


Shooting Star

by misslucyjane



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Family, Kid Fic, Post-Series, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-04-08
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 97,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslucyjane/pseuds/misslucyjane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventeen years ago Mulder disappeared. Reunited after all this time, Mulder and Scully struggle to make themselves the family they should have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Oh shooting star that fell into my eyes and through my body—  
> Not to forget you. To endure."
> 
> —"Death", Rainier Maria Rilke.
> 
> Originally posted Apr 8, 2000.

===== One =====

Scully woke up as soon as the small body curled itself up next to her. She sat up and reached for the bedside lamp and snapped it on, and hauled her son into her lap. "Benjie? Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yes," he said and his arms wrapped around her waist.

"Oh, my sweet Benjie," Scully cooed, and kissed him gently and rocked him against her. "What did you dream, baby?"

"Mommy?" He looked up at her. "What's a bastard?"

Scully sighed. She'd known that someday this question would come, but she'd hoped it would be later rather than sooner. Five years old was far too young to understand this. But explain it she must.

"It's a person whose parents weren't married when he was born. Did someone call you that, Benjie?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

It made her heart ache. It isn't your fault, baby, she thought, it was never your fault. "What did you do?"

"I hit him."

Yes, he had his father's temper. "You shouldn't hit, Benjie."

"He shouldn't call me names."

That made her chuckle despite herself. "No, he shouldn't. But just because someone does something bad to you, doesn't give you the right to do something bad to them."

"Mommy? Where's my dad?"

"I don't know." She buried her nose in his dark hair. He still smelled like a baby, and his skin was still baby-soft. She'd long ago divided his features between her own and his father's. He was handsome, like his father, and she knew that by his teenage years he would have the same soulful, "save me with your love" expression his father had often worn. She'd tried. God, how she'd tried. "I don't know where he is. Bad men took him away before you were born."

"Why?"

"Because he knew things, baby, dangerous things."

"Are bad men ever going to take you away?" He looked terrified, and she kissed him and cuddled him close.

"No, baby, never. No one is ever going to take me away from you. I promise."

"But if they could take my dad they can take you. Can't they?"

Again she sighed. He was right, but there was no good reason in telling him that. "But they don't want to, Benjie. I promise, they don't want to hurt me. Or you. You're always going to be safe."

Now they were entering into familiar territory, and he said, "Because I have four guardian angels, and their names are Walter, Melvin, John and Ringo."

"That's right. They're always going to take care of you. And maybe someday they'll find your dad, and bring him home."

"Tomorrow?" He looked up at her eagerly.

"No, not tomorrow. Someday." She looked at the clock. Four a.m. Maybe she'd get another hour before she had to get up for work. "Do you want to sleep with me tonight, baby?"

"Yes, Mommy." She turned the light back off as he crawled under the blankets and curled himself up against her side. She put her arm around him and kissed his forehead, and stroked his hair until she fell asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been so hard, at first. Every day there were new leads that led nowhere. Reports came in that people had seen him in Boston, in New York, in Orlando; later in Topeka, in Los Angeles, in Ontario.

Then the reports stopped being so common, and soon he was just another name on the missing persons list, another picture on a police station bulletin board. Even if he was an FBI agent.

Scully hadn't suspected she was pregnant until the symptoms began to add up. The odds seemed astronomical—her supposed infertility added to the fact that they'd been lovers for such a short time—but a home pregnancy test and a doctor's examination confirmed it. Thirty-six, pregnant, and single, and clueless as to where the father was.

The day she found out, she went to her mother and cried in her lap like she hadn't since she was a little girl. It wasn't a question of what to do with the baby—of course she would keep Mulder's baby—but just that he had wanted it and now wouldn't know. He'd wanted to be a father.

It broke her heart, but she left the X-Files. She couldn't do it alone, not with her increasing bulk and the stresses of single motherhood. She went back to teaching. It was nine-to-five, it was steady and peaceful, it was rewarding in its way. For months whenever a strange case arose phone calls would come, and the callers would sound genuinely sorry to hear that Mulder was missing. Very few of them made jokes about abductions.

She wished it were that simple. If it were a question of a bright light and a strange noise and lost time, then she could understand it, a little. But it was Mulder going out to get the paper in only his pajama bottoms, not even wearing shoes or a shirt, and never coming back. He wouldn't leave her half an hour after making love. Not voluntarily. Not Mulder, who loved her beyond reason.

She named the baby Benjamin William Scully. He had Mulder's eyes.

By the time he was sixteen, Ben was over six feet tall, with the long waist and slim hips of a swimmer. He preferred solitary sports and solitary activities, which worried Scully sometimes. He was articulate enough for the debate team, but he didn't want to do anything that made him so . . . obvious. He wrote, but didn't want to join the school newspaper or the yearbook. He studied, he swam, he ran for hours. He played guitar, softly strumming to the radio or to songs only he could hear. He had a few, very few, very close friends.

He was, Scully realized with heavy sighs, exactly like her.

He went through a brief period of rebellion, complete with a dyed mohawk, earrings and a tattoo, but that ended quickly. There was little he could do to shock her. When he came home from getting his tattoo and said, "Hey, Mom, look what I got," and showed her, she said, "Really? I've never showed you mine, have I?" and did. She told him about sneaking her mother's cigarettes, which shocked him. She told him about working on the X- Files, and when he wasn't laughing at the ridiculousness of the stories he was wide-eyed with wonder at how long they'd survived.

He sometimes asked her about Mulder. His questions were thoughtful, as if he'd been turning over her stories in his mind for weeks: "Mom, what kind of music did my dad like?" or "Was my dad good at math?"

Only once did he ask, "Did you really want me?" They were fighting, arguing over curfews and grades and friends and all the usual suspects, when he shot that one out: "Did you really want me?"

All the anger left her, and she embraced her tall son tightly. "Of course I wanted you. From the moment I found out about you, I wanted you. I wanted to tell your father about you so badly it hurt. I wanted to tell everyone I knew that I was really going to be a mother. You have always been wanted, Benjie, you have always been loved."

The hardest times for him, though, were when she went away. Every few months they would uncover another lead, and she would go to Seattle or Springfield or Salem and see if the John Doe might, by some chance, be Mulder. 

It never was. She would come back despairing and missing him more than ever, and Ben hated that it made her even more unhappy. "Let the guys find him, Mom," he said. "They'll know him." It was clear to her Ben didn't think they'd ever find Mulder, that perhaps he thought Mulder wasn't even alive anymore. She thought sometimes he might be right.

But she couldn't give up. She just couldn't.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Mom?" Ben was sprawled across her bed, his head pillowed on his arms. "Does Walter want to marry you?"

Scully looked up from the notes she was preparing and lowered her reading glasses. "What makes you say that?"

"He spends a lot of time here. He touches you a lot. He looks at you sometimes like . . . I don't know. I think he's a man in love."

"He's never said a word to me about it, and we've known each other over twenty years."

"If he asked you, would you say yes?"

She laughed with surprise. "I—no. No, Benjie. I don't love him that way."

He was silent a long time. "Because of my dad."

She didn't know how to read his tone. "You only get one love of a lifetime," she said at last.

"Even when he's been gone for almost twenty years?"

"It's complicated, Benjie. I hope someday you'll understand."

He vaulted off the bed and said, "I don't want to understand why my mom can't give up on a guy who ran out on her and let her fend for herself."

"Benjamin Scully, he did not run out. He was taken."

"How do you know?"

She stared at him, his dear face so like Mulder's it made her want to cry. "Because your father went to bottom of the world for me, on a slim chance that something a man we had no reason to trust had given him might save me, that he might find me, that we might get out of that mess alive. Your father risked his life for me more times than I can count. We waited so long to just say the words, Benjie. He wouldn't have run away, he had nothing to run away from. I was—I was his shelter."

"He's probably dead."

"Until I know for sure, I have to believe he's alive and that he'll come home someday."

"And then what, Mom?" Ben said bitterly, and went into his room and slammed the door.

Scully sighed and pushed her notes aside. Half an hour for him to cool off, then she'd talk to him. There had to be some way to make him see that this wasn't the desperate clinging of a lonely woman—she had to find Mulder because she knew, even after all these years, he still needed her.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He dreams.

Tell me about your dreams, the doctor says.

There is a woman in my dreams, an angel.

Describe the angel.

She looks at me with trust and love.

But what does she look like?

Like fire. Like snow. Like sky. She carries a flaming sword and wraps me in her wings to heal me.

Does the angel speak to you?

She tells me to sleep, to rest my weary body in her lap, and she sings to me.

What does the angel sing?

She sings of joy. Her touch heals my wounds. She brings light to the dark places.

What are the dark places?

He holds his head in his hands and rocks. I don't know. I don't know. Leave me alone.

They call him by a name that isn't his. They give him pills that reduce what he knew was once vibrant and colorful to a grey and dull place. They bind his arms and put him in a room where he can't hurt himself. He feels his senses as if he were underwater. Everything is muffled, blurry, and he can't remember, can't remember anything.

There was something, someone, so important that he faced death for it . . . but who?

The answer is in the dark places and he doesn't want to go there.

He dreams on, and asks her in the dreams, Where are you?

Looking for you. Help me find you, she says, but when he reaches out to touch her she disappears.

They tell him the angel is only a dream. There is no one here but you.

===== Two =====

When Ben came home from school he was not surprised to see the Lone Gunmen sitting with his mother at the kitchen table. Three or four times a week at least one of them came by, to give her the latest news of the shadowy world they lived in. All three of them was rare, though, and the way they stopped talking and looked at him when he came in told him something more was going on than a friendly chat.

"Hey, guys. Hey, Mom." He swung into one of the kitchen chairs, straddling the back. "What's up?"

"Hey, Ben."

"Hiya, Ben."

"Benjie," Scully said quietly, "the guys have uncovered something. Another lead on your father."

"Oh, geez, Mom!"

"Benije, listen. This time it may really be him. I'm going to Nashville for a few days, to follow it up."

"Mom—" He shook his head in frustration. "Every time you go looking for him you come back more upset than when you left. Why can't one of you guys go? If it's him then send for Mom. Don't make her suffer anymore."

"Ben," Byers said, and Ben sighed. They knew Ben would rather listen to him than anyone else. "Ben, here's what's happening, okay? We think we found a place where Mulder was a few years ago. We're going to go to see if it was him, and if they know where he went. And maybe the next place will know where he is. We need your mother's credentials and her investigative ability. We'd like to spare her as much pain as we can, you know."

"You don't act like it."

"Ben," Scully said, "please, sweetie, don't make this more difficult. I'll be back in a few days. Grandma Maggie would like to come stay with you, if you want company."

Ben looked at them all sullenly. He loved his mother, and he liked her friends, but this was—oh, God, he hated this. "I think I'll be okay on my own," he said finally. "I am sixteen, you know." "We know," Scully said softly, smiling at him, her thanks in her eyes. "It won't be long, honey."

He sat there, frowning, while he listened to them make plans, and he studied them. Langly, with his long ponytail. Frohike, gray around the edges. Byers, his beard starting to go silver. And his pretty mother, her hair still vibrant and red, only a few lines around her mouth and eyes.

He knew what his father looked like. He'd seen pictures. For years there had been one on his night table, in a double frame with a picture of his sister who had died years before he was born. He also knew that everybody said he looked like his father, right down to the oversized lower lip and the size eleven feet. When he was very small he had wanted his father to come back so badly he had run to answer the door every time the bell rang, thinking it was finally him. He'd pictured it in exact detail: his tall handsome father, bearing flowers for his mother and a present for him, and he would swing Ben into his arms and kiss him, and then . . .

Well, he didn't know what would happen next. He supposed his father would be like his friends' dads, going to work in the morning, coming to his soccer games, sitting at the head of the table.

As he got older the fantasy faded. His dad wasn't coming back. And Ben didn't want him back.

The way he saw it was this. His dad had abandoned them, plain and simple, and he didn't want to be found. Unless whoever had taken him—and Ben wasn't sure if he believed that part of the fairy tale—had killed him. Ben thought he'd prefer that, that his mother find Fox Mulder's grave, than for her to keep hoping on nothing.

"Mom," Ben said suddenly, interrupting their conversation, "Mom, I want to come too."

"Oh, honey, I don't want you missing that much school."

"I want to come. I want to help you find him. And Mom, if it's not him, I want this to be the last time."

"Benjie!" He could see the shock on his mother's face. Normally he didn't make demands, but he had to, dammit: this was his mother.

"I mean it, Mom. This is the last time. Don't you think that after seventeen years you'd find something solid? Tell me this is going to be it, Mom."

"I can't give up like that, Benjie."

"I don't think it's giving up, I think it's letting go. I don't think you should be chasing ghosts anymore."

Her lips trembled, and Ben sighed. Maybe it was asking too much. But there was no one to protect her but him. "All right," Scully said quietly, and all four pairs of eyes looked at her with surprise. "All right. If it's not him this time . . . this is it. And you're coming, too."

Ben nodded. "Okay. So tell me what's going on."

~*~*~*~*~*~

The sign read Shady Acres Sanitarium, which was walled and gated. Dana's hand trembled as she pressed the intercom button, but her voice was steady when she identified herself. "Dr. Dana Scully to see Dr. Mahler."

The gate swung open slowly, and Scully got back into the car. She had come alone on this leg of the journey: Ben and Byers were waiting for her back at the hotel. Frohike and Langly were doing some independent research in Nashville. She wished she'd brought Ben, though, just so that he could smile and make a joke that would calm her heartbeat down.

She drove slowly up the long drive to the main building. All along the lawn she could see orderlies in white and their charges, some leaning on walkers or crutches but most in wheelchairs.

She parked the rental car in a visitor's slot and got out, and took a deep breath before starting up the steps. Mulder isn't here, she reminded herself, but that didn't stop the tremble of excitement that passed through her. Mulder had been here. Probably.

She announced herself to the nurse at the front desk, and waited for a few minutes for Dr. Mahler to come out from his office. The floors and walls of the lobby were a cheerful white, with prints of soothing seascapes on the walls and a large vase of sunflowers on the nurse's desk. It seemed like a pleasant enough place, if you could afford it.

So how had Mulder ended up here?

Dr. Mahler came out into the lobby at last. He was a tall, slender man in his fifties, with greying hair and a dark beard. He shook Dana's hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Agent Scully. Come back to my office." He led her through some glass doors and another hallway, into an office that was lined with books and furnished in dark woods. He gestured her to an overstuffed armchair, and she set her briefcase on the floor. He sat down behind his desk and folded his hands together. "How can I help you, Agent Scully?"

"I'm looking for a former colleague. His name is Fox Mulder. He disappeared several years ago under mysterious circumstances. I was given to understand he spent some time here." Scully took a picture of Mulder from her briefcase and gave it to Mahler.

He studied the picture, frowning. "Yes, I recognize him. We were told his name was William. William Davis. He was with us for five years. He was in terrible shape when he came to us."

"What kind of shape?"

"He'd been in some kind of accident—the details were never made clear to us—but we had to teach him everything. How to walk, how to talk, how to dress, how to take care of himself. Everything."

"What kind of physical trauma did he show?"

"That's the strange part. When he first came to us he was malnourished, but that was it. There was no head trauma that would cause a reversal of this kind. It was like someone had wiped away his memory, reducing him to a newborn baby. His brother said—"

"I'm sorry. His brother?"

"Yes, his brother. His brother brought him to us, paid his bills, and eventually took him away. To a group home, he said."

"Can you describe his brother?"

"A few years younger than William, dark hair and eyes, about the same height, same build, a very different face. They didn't look related, really, but of course I never asked. Oh, and he had a prosthetic arm. I remember wondering if it had happened in the same accident."

"What was his name?" Scully asked softly. Him. Of all people.

"Alex. Alex Davis. But I guess that wasn't his real name, since William wasn't our patient's name."

"No. It wasn't his real name. He wasn't Mulder's brother."

"Well, William always seemed happy to see him. When he finally spoke it was to Alex."

"What did he say?" Scully asked, and hoped her voice didn't sound too needy.

"He said, 'Want to go home.' Not terribly clearly, of course, he'd barely regained his gross motor functions."

"So did Alex take him home?"

"Oh, no. William wasn't ready to leave us."

"When he did leave you, what state was he in?" "He could speak fairly clearly, walk by himself, feed and dress himself, he was learning to swim—he loved the water—and we were hoping to teach him to read." He paused. "What was he like before?" he asked quietly.

"Brilliant," Scully said, just as quietly. "Athletic. Funny and charming and driven."

The doctor shook his head sadly. "If that was the case, I'm glad he didn't remember anything. Sometimes the hardest part of recovery is knowing you used to be normal."

"He didn't remember anything? Names, faces, places?"

"Nothing. He'd talk about wanting to go home, but he couldn't tell us where home was. Well, I should amend that—he didn't remember anything consciously. He'd have terrible, inexplicable nightmares. They were worst at the beginning, when he couldn't tell us anything. And even when he could tell us what he dreamed about, it didn't make any sense. Monsters and aliens and people with green blood. Our psychologist couldn't make it into any kind of sense." Scully closed her eyes for a moment. Her poor darling Mulder. "So," she said, opening her eyes, "when he left it was because you'd rehabilitated him as much as you were able."

"Well, we could have made more progress, I'm sure, but his brother— Mr. Davis—wanted him closer to home, he said. Virginia. I have the address in William's files, if you'd like it."

"Yes, please."

"Just a moment." He pressed his intercom button.

"Yes, Dr. Mahler?" a voice chirped.

"Jessie, please get me the files on William Davis. It will be in the previous patients section."

"Yes, Doctor."

Mahler looked up at Scully sympathetically. "What year did he go missing?"

"1999."

"That's interesting. He didn't come to us until 2003."

"Is that so."

"That leaves four years unaccounted for. I wonder what could have happened to him, to leave him in such a state."

"I can't imagine," Scully whispered, although she actually could. He'd been four years in their hands. Possibly tortured, possibly starved. Tested, prodded and poked, locked up, stripped of his dignity, his humanity . . . She swallowed hard.

The doctor's assistant came in with the files and laid them on his desk. She flashed a brief smile to Scully as the doctor thanked her and left the office again. Mahler flipped through the files, frowning.

"Here we are. I'll write the address out for you."

"Could I have a copy of those?"

He looked at her for a moment, then handed over the manila folders. "Keep them. They're only in storage here. Find him."

"Thank you." She put the files into her briefcase, and stood up to shake the doctor's hand. "I will find him."

 ~*~*~*~*~*~

Ben had been pacing the hotel room for nearly an hour. He knew it was annoying Byers, but Byers was kind enough not to say so. He was, instead, typing on his laptop, stopping now and again to go over his handwritten notes.

Finally Ben sat down on the bed, pulling up his long legs and wrapping his arms around his knees. "Was he a good friend to you, my dad?" he asked suddenly.

Byers looked up at him. "Sorry?"

"My dad. Was he really a friend to you?"

"One of the best I've ever had, Ben, why?"

"Because . . . because . . . was he really a good guy?"

"Yes. You have to believe that. He was a good man. He didn't run away, he didn't abandon you or Scully. For your mother's sake, Ben, try to believe that."

"I am trying. It just seems to fantastic to be real, you know? Conspiracies and kidnapings and viruses from outer space." He saw Byers's smile and said, "What?"

"Oh, you're definitely your mother's son, that's all." He got up from the table and sat down beside Ben on the bedside, putting his arm around Ben's shoulders. "Look. I know it's been hard on you. I know how hard it's been on Scully. But try, Ben, try to believe that if he could have been with you all these years, he would have been. And when we find him, we'll all make up for lost time."

Ben nodded, though he wondered how this miracle they all seemed to expect would ever come about.

The room door unlocked and opened, and a weary Scully came in. She threw her briefcase on the other bed and sat down at Ben's other side. He put his arm around her. "So?" he asked quietly.

"He was there. For five years. He was there and he forgot everything, everyone. All of us." She sighed, and Ben hugged her tighter.

"What next, Scully?" Byers asked.

"I have the address he was transferred to next. It's in Virginia. We'll go there. Also, Byers, I need you and the guys to find out everything you can about what Alex Krycek has been doing for the past fifteen years."

"Krycek, Scully? Is he even still alive?"

"He was six years ago. If he still is, I want to know. I want to find him."

"Who's Alex Krycek, Mom?"

Scully looked at Ben thoughtfully, and said, "The element of chaos in an orderly system."

~*~*~*~*~*~

The doctor says, We can't let you go if you keep trying to run away. We're here to help you. We'll take off the restraints for an hour tomorrow, but if you start hurting yourself again we'll put them back on. You're not helping yourself any by doing this. Are you listening to me? Give me some sign that you understand.

He is not there. He is far away with the angel. She says to him, smoothing his hair back from his face, I'm coming for you. I'm always closer. Can you feel me?

I feel you. I feel you near me. I feel your fire.

Let me keep you warm, the angel says, and embraces him tightly. Let me keep you from the cold.

There was a time when he didn't have enough to eat or a place to sleep, when he wandered the streets of a vast and ugly city, and he couldn't find the angel anywhere. He had screamed it to the unforgiving sky: Where are you? Please come for me. Please take me home.

But the other came, who promised someday he'd find the angel again. He'd lied, though, he didn't know where the angel was. Instead he brought him here, to this place, where the angel found him anyway, in his dreams.

I can't embrace you. They won't let me use my arms.

I am always with you, the angel says, and kisses him.

The doctor says, You're not helping yourself, you know. You're not going to get better if you never talk to me. There is no angel.

====== Three ======

When the bell rang all the students leapt up to leave the classroom, and the teacher called quickly, "Ben Scully, would you stay with me a few minutes, please?"

Ben glanced at his friend Chris, who shrugged and said, "I'll meet you at the car," and left the classroom. Ben slipped his arm through the strap of his backpack and went to the teacher's desk.

"Is something wrong, Mrs. Olivette?"

"I'm worried about your performance in this class, especially with all the school you've missed lately."

Ben shifted his feet uncomfortably and said, "I made up all my homework—and I've never been very good at theoretical stuff—you should've seen my grades in geometry—"

"I've seen your grades in geometry, Ben. I hope your family isn't planning on any more trips during the school year."

"My mom wanted me to come with her on a business trip."

"Still." Mrs. Olivette handed him the last test he had taken, the C- bold and red on the paper. "I know you're capable of better than this. If you need extra help there's always the math lab."

"Yes, ma'am." Scully wouldn't be happy to see this. But then, his taking calculus had been her idea anyway, he'd told her it would be too hard. He'd put his foot down at physics—biology was as far into science as he wanted to go. She'd been so pleased that he got into AP English she'd let that pass.

"Ben," Mrs. Olivette said in a more gentle tone, "you're an intelligent young man. I know your grades in your language classes are high enough to get you into any college you want. I'd hate for some poor math grades to hold you back."

"Yes, ma'am," he said again. College. Scully was already talking to him about where he wanted to go—she wanted Ivy League, he was thinking someplace like Bennington in Vermont. Someplace where they'd let him write.

"Promise me you'll go to the math lab for help when you need it."

"Sure. Thanks."

"Ben, everything's all right at home, isn't it?"

He hated that question. Sure, everything was all right. His mother and the guys were looking for some guy named Krycek who may or may not know where his father was—then there was the whole issue of his father to begin with. Oh yeah, he wanted to go into that right now.

He said, "Yeah, everything's okay. Thanks, Mrs. Olivette." He stuffed the test into his backpack, gave her a quick smile, and left the classroom quickly.

The study labs were on the first floor of the school, and he stopped by the math lab and looked in. There were maybe ten people there, most of them at the end of the room going through a problem together on a white board. Near the door was a sign-up sheet for people in need of tutors. He sighed, and wrote quickly on one: Ben Scully, Calculus, and his phone number.

Though how Scully expected him to keep up with a subject he wasn't all that interested in with everything else that was going on, he didn't know.

He sighed again and left quickly to where his friend Chris was waiting in his car. He just wanted to get home and see if there was any news.

"You okay?" Chris said when Ben climbed into the car.

"Yeah. Everything's okay."

"You sure? Olivette's not riding your ass about anything?"

"It's okay. Olivette's not so bad. Just the usual shit." He leaned back in the seat and put his feet on the dashboard. Chris shoved them off.

"Watch the finish, would you?"

"Sorry." He clipped his seatbelt closed and looked out the window as Chris pulled the car out of the school parking lot.

"You want to come over for a while?" Chris said eventually.

"No. Thanks. My mom needs me to come straight home."

"You're not grounded or something, are you?"

"No, just some shit's going on and she needs me around. It's complicated."

"Ben Scully, man of mystery," Chris said dryly, and Ben smiled though he didn't think it was very funny.

"It's complicated," he repeated.

"Top secret government stuff?"

"Not even. Family stuff."

"Wasn't your mom a spy?"

"She was an FBI agent, stupid. She and my—her partner—just about saved the whole fucking world back in the day."

"The history books don't say anything about that."

"The history books don't know shit." He thought sometimes the only reason he passed history was because he was good at memorizing facts, though the facts they taught him were vastly different from the stories the Lone Gunmen told. There was the safe, sanitized version that was The Official Story, and then there was the truth.

He thought, I wonder if the people who write the history books are the same ones who took my dad, and shivered. Even the guys couldn't tell who were the good guys and who were the bad guys anymore.

Chris stopped the car in front of Ben's house. "See you tomorrow."

"Thanks for the ride." Ben got out of the car and slammed shut the door, waved to Chris briefly and ran up the porch steps. The front door was still locked, but it was too early for his mom to be home anyway. He unlocked the door and went inside, locking the door again behind him, and went first to the answering machine. Nothing. Okay. He wasn't surprised—the guys never left messages and his own friends hated answering machines. But there was a note for him on the fridge:

"Ben,

Remember I'm going to the group home this afternoon. I should be home after 7. Love you.

Mom."

He sighed and took the note off the refrigerator door and tossed it into the trash. He'd wanted to go, sort of, but Scully had thought he shouldn't. He didn't know what sort of thing she thought would be going on there that was too rough for him to see, but she was protective that way.

Ben got a bag of microwave popcorn out of the pantry and put it into the microwave oven, turned on the radio and unpacked his backpack on the kitchen table. If he did his homework now they'd have more time to talk when she got home.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a perfectly ordinary one-storey house on the outskirts of Richmond. There was a low front fence with a gate, and a garden. Scully parked the car and turned off the engine, and sat there for a moment, looking at the house and biting her lip.

Though Ben, Skinner, and all three of the guys had offered to join her, Scully had decided to go alone to the group home. She'd want their support later, she was sure of it, but for now she thought she could do it alone. It was nothing more than a fact-finding mission. She could handle that.

She opened the car door and got out, and stood on the pavement for a moment, before taking a deep breath and heading up the front path with determination.

The front door opened to her knock, and a baby-faced young man smiled at her sweetly. "Hello," he said. "I'm Mitchell."

"Hi. I'm Scully. Is Dr. Bradley here?"

"Uh-huh," Mitchell said, but continued holding the door and smiling at her.

"Can I see her, please?"

"She's out in the back. We're raising carrots," he said proudly. He finally opened the door wide enough for Scully to enter the house, and he gestured for her to follow him. "This way, Scully."

She followed him through the house to the back yard, where four or five other people of various ages were working in a vegetable garden. A grey-haired woman knelt in the rows along with them, and looked up and smiled when Mitchell led Scully out to them. "Dr. Bradley, this is Scully," he said, and Dr. Bradley stood up and shook her hand.

"Thanks for coming, Dr. Scully," she said. "Will you sit with me in the porch swing? We can talk there."

"Thanks," Scully said, and followed her to the back porch of the house. "Did you have a chance to gather some records together for me?"

"I did, I have them in my office inside. I'd like to talk to you some first, though."

"Of course."

"William wasn't with us for very long," Dr. Bradley said hesitantly. "He was . . . difficult."

"How so?" Though Scully could easily imagine Mulder being a difficult patient.

"We're a home for people learning to take care of themselves. We're not equipped for anyone with William's high level of maintenance. He ran away constantly, he'd refuse to eat or sleep or bathe, he'd have tantrums and nightmares that terrified the other residents. The last time he ran away it took us eight months to find him. He'd been living on the streets in Washington, homeless and begging. When we finally found him it was only because he'd been arrested. We contacted his brother and told him to find another place for William to live. He needed better care than we could give."

"Where did his brother take him?" Scully asked quietly. She couldn't bear to say Alex's name. Not just yet.

"A private asylum outside of Williamsburg. The address is in his files."

"Asylum? You mean an insane asylum?"

"Dr. Scully, he'd been arrested for assault. He attacked people in the street. He accused them of being monsters, zombies, aliens—all sorts of terrible things. He even said to me once, 'You're not who you are,'which is about the strangest thing I'd ever heard.

Scully shivered. He remembered, a little, but what terrible things to remember. Why didn't he remember her? Why didn't he remember the way they had loved each other?

"It's a reputable asylum, very highly regarded," Dr. Bradley said as Dana's silence continued. "I'm sure he's been well-cared for."

"I'm—" She had to stop for a moment and take a deep breath. "I'm sure he is. It's . . . I knew Mulder—William—a long time ago. This is the last fate I ever imagined for him."

Dr. Bradley was silent a moment, then she said, "What happened to him, Dr. Scully? I always got the impression, when his brother came to visit, that he'd been very different once."

"I'm actually not sure what happened to him. He went missing one day. I think he was hurt very badly, in ways I can't even begin to imagine."

"You think someone did this to him on purpose?" Dr. Bradley said, horrified.

"Dr. Bradley . . . a long time ago there were powerful and dangerous men who feared and hated William. I wouldn't put anything past them."

"Oh, my God," Dr. Bradley said after a moment. "You're the one. It's you, isn't it? You and William. You're the missing pieces in that whole story. You're the reason—"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Scully said hastily. "I'm just trying to find an old friend."

"How long has he been missing? I never could get a straight answer from his brother."

"Seventeen years," Scully said, and her throat closed. Seventeen years didn't begin to sum up what it meant to search and hope and despair and wonder and pray. She felt that he was now nearly in her grasp—but sliding away so quickly—

Dr. Bradley said, standing up, "I'll get his files. The asylum had us send copies to them, of course."

"Of course."

"I'll be right back." She went into the house.

Scully leaned over and rested her arms on her lap. Mulder homeless. Mulder attacking people in the street. She wasn't sure what upset her more, that he'd had to go through these terrible things or that he'd been so close by for so long and she hadn't known. Had she walked past him one day, and not recognized him for the grime and the toll the years had taken on him? Oh, God, if she had, if she'd just walked past him . . .

Dr. Bradley came back out with the files and Scully sat up straight and took the folders eagerly. "I can't thank you enough for this."

"I hope you find him well," Dr. Bradley said. "I'm sure he's fine. Perhaps they've been able to make progress that we couldn't."

"Maybe," Scully said, and stood up to shake Dr. Bradley's hand again. "Thank you."

The doctor led her through the house again to the front door, and Scully got into her car. She didn't start it at once, however, but instead flipped through the folder for anything new, a picture, maybe, anything. The desire just to *see* Mulder was so strong she was shaking with it.

But there were no pictures, only the clinical reports she was accustomed to seeing and a handwritten address of the asylum where Mulder—she hoped—was now.

Scully closed her eyes. The weekend, she would wait until the weekend, she couldn't take anymore personal days this month. She had to get home. She had to talk to the guys and see what they had uncovered on Krycek. She had to talk to Ben.

The desire to see her baby was just as strong as the desire to see Mulder, and she started up the car. She didn't know, sometimes, how she would have survived the last seventeen years without Ben to care for and worry about. He'd kept her grounded. He'd kept her sane.

And who would turn Mulder from the gentle, concerned man he had been into a man who attacked strangers?

"Mulder," she whispered to the passing scenery, "what did they do to you?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Time.

He knew what that was, once.

Time passes like a heartbeat.

He knows the sound of his heartbeat. It is his only company.

There are other people who would come and talk to him, but nothing they say matters. There is only time, which is as unvaried as the room he is in.

She is gone.

When the doctors ask him about his angel, he can only weep. He is abandoned, alone. He longs for her, but she doesn't come.

He sobs, "Where are you? Why did you leave me? I need you. Come back to me. Please come back." He curls up in the corner of his tiny room and holds himself, paying no attention to anything the doctors say. He wants only her.

But she does not come.

He does not sleep. He does not dream.

===== Four =====

Ben got out of the car and straightened his tie, looking at the subdued face of the Cove Point Institute. "It looks like a retirement home," he said to Scully.

"And not a cove in sight," she answered, closing the car door. "Or a point. " The lands around the institute was serene and wooded, and though there was a wall around the property it bore no resemblance to a prison wall. No barbed wire, no guards in towers. Ben was not sure what he had expected—something out of a war movie, maybe—but this wasn't it.

"So do we have our story straight?" Ben said as they walked up the front steps.

"The truth, Benjie. The truth. Or a liberally edited version of the truth," Scully said and took his arm.

"I'm sure that will go over well with the staff. 'Hi, I'm the inmate's former partner and this is his son.' Like they'll believe us, Mom."

"We're his family, Benjie. We'll tell them that." She paused before the door, and Ben looked at her, waiting. She smiled at him nervously. "I'm ready. Let's do this."

He pushed open the door and followed her inside. After all the hope and the anticipation, the long drive and the wondering, at last he was going to see his father. He wasn't sure how he felt. Nervous, worried, calm. Ambivalent—oh, vocabulary, he thought, and smiled to himself.

There was a receptionist's desk just inside the lobby, and Scully stepped up to it confidently. "Hello, I'm Dr. Dana Scully. I'm here to see one of your patients, William Davis."

The receptionist nodded and tapped on her computer keyboard for a moment, then glanced up at them again. "I'm sorry, Dr.—Scully, was it? Mr. Davis is not allowed visitors."

"He's not," Scully repeated.

"No, ma'am. On the express orders of his physician."

"May I speak to his physician?"

The receptionist looked irritated, but said, "I'll see if he's in," and turned to her switchboard. She pressed a button out of dozens and spoke softly into her headset, too softly for Ben to hear. After a moment she turned back to face them. "Dr. Lucas is in a meeting. If you'd like to leave a message I can see that he gets it."

"A message," Scully repeated softly. "I see."

Ben shifted uncomfortably on his feet. A message? To the doctor? That was it? He watched in disbelief as Scully wrote a note in her small neat handwriting, and she handed the note to the receptionist with a steady hand.

"I'll be in touch," she said quietly, and took Ben's arm to lead him out.

"I don't believe this!" Ben said as soon as they were outside. "We're right here—we drove all this way—how dangerous could he be in a place like this?"

"Benjamin, hush." She unlocked the car and got in, but Ben paced impatiently, scuffling his shoes on the parking lot gravel.

"What are we supposed to do? Call him up and make nice? Beg? This is dumb."

"Get in the car, Ben."

"Hot damn, Mom!"

"Language."

"Sorry. I can't believe you're caving to this guy!"

She gave a small smile and said, "Is that what you think I'm doing? Caving? Get in, Ben. We're not through yet."

He started to smile at her. "We're not?"

"We're not."

Ben went around the car and got into the passenger side. "So. Are we gonna bust in there, guns blazing?"

"I don't know how wise that would be," Scully said as she put on her sunglasses. "But just trust me, Benjie, okay? It's going to take more than a couple of bureaucrats to keep me away."

"So what are we going to do, then?"

"*We're* not going to do anything. You're going back to the hotel, and I'm going to make some phone calls."

"But you do have a plan, right?"

She was looking over her shoulder as she backed the car out of the parking space, and she didn't answer for a minute or two. Finally she said, as she pulled the car onto the road that would lead them to the highway, "Once legitimate avenues are finished, we turn to . . . less traditional methods."

"You expected to be refused."

"Be prepared, Benjie," she answered, smiling at him.

~*~*~*~*~

They had dinner in the hotel restaurant, and Ben half-heartedly did some homework while Scully used the phone. He had the TV on for background noise, and Scully took the phone into the bathroom so her voice was just a low murmur. Ben had sprawled on his bed with his books and papers, which was, he thought sleepily, kind of a mistake. He lay down his head on his arm. Five minutes. Just five minutes.

When he opened his eyes again the room was dark and empty. There was a note on the dresser. Ben got up and rubbed his face, flicked on a light and read the note.

"Benjie, the guys are on their way here. I've gone back to Cove Point. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know how long I'll be gone. I hope to bring your father home with me. Don't worry.I love you. Mom."

Ben sighed and sat down on his bed. Without a car he couldn't even follow her to help. And, dammit, he'd wanted to help. She was a trained FBI agent, he knew that, but still he'd wanted to help, to be there, to see his dad.

He lay back. Okay. He'd wait, and he'd try not to worry. When the guys got there, they might explain what was going on.

He'd wait.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He can hear them whispering, when he cares to listen. He's not eating, Doctor. I don't think he slept last night. He's unresponsive. He hasn't moved all day.

He can feel himself shriveling. Had he been strong once? Sometimes he thinks so. The angel would know. The angel could tell him.

But the angel doesn't come anymore.

Has she ever? Has he only dreamed her, all this time? Has he ever been out of this room?

The room is dark. Night time. He should sleep, but instead he watches the faint shadows play through the narrow barred window. They haven't restrained him, but he only lies on his bed. He does not know how long he has been lying here like this.

Once he thinks, I want to die, and it doesn't surprise him. It makes sense. He wants to die. Maybe he is already dead. That must be why all he wants to do was lie here and stare. Why hasn't the staff realized it yet? Why haven't they taken him away and buried him?

Is that why the angel won't come? Because he is in hell?

The door unlocks and opens, but he pays it no mind. The orderlies and nurses are in and out all the time, with pills and food. Sometimes they talk to him. Sometimes they touch him. His reaction is always the same: none at all.

The entrant doesn't turn on the light, which is different. He is glad, he hates the flickering flourescent light and its harsh shadows. The entrant walks across the floor with soft footsteps, and kneels at the side of his bed.

She speaks. "Mulder?"

That voice. That scent. Is it . . . her?

She takes his hand. She has small, slender fingers. Her skin is soft and cool. She strokes his hand and kisses it and presses it to her face. "Mulder," she whispers. "Oh, Mulder."

Why is she calling him Mulder? Is that his name? He can't remember. There is so much that he can't remember. She begins to stroke his face, and then she kisses him gently. Her face is wet. Is she crying?Why is she crying?

She is crying. Crying and calling him by that name, Mulder, in a soft whisper that somehow makes him feel the name means a great deal to her. He hopes that name is his.

"Mulder," she whispers, "I've come to get you out of here. I've come to take you home. I've been looking and looking for you—I've finally found you—oh, Mulder, I've missed you. I've missed you. Mulder?Can't you answer me?"

When she lets go of his hand it remains suspended in the air, and she gasps, "Oh, Mulder." She lies her head on his shoulder. "What have they done to you?" After a moment she lifts her head, and gets into the narrow bed beside him. She puts her arm over his chest and pulls him to her carefully. She strokes his face with her hand.

"Come on, Mulder," she whispers. "I need you to try. I need you to try and surface for me. Try, Mulder. I know you—that you haven't been yourself for a long time. Please, Mulder. Try. So we can get you out of here. Just so that you can move. I don't expect you to be fine in an instant. But can you move, Mulder? Can you sit up for me? Can you stand? I'm going to need your help to get you out of here. For me, Mulder?"

He closes his eyes, then opens them. His tongue moves sluggishly in his mouth, to part his lips and lick them. He knows her name. He can say it. He wants to say it, the name of his red-haired angel in black.

He says hoarsely, "Scully."

Her head whips up and even in the darkness he can see her smiling. "That's right, Mulder. It's Scully. I've come to take you home."

"Scully."

"Mulder," she answers, and kisses his mouth.

His arm is stiff and sore, but he manages to lift it, to touch her cheek with his fingertips. "Scully," he says again. "Are you real, Scully?"

"Yes." She takes his hand and presses it to her breast, where he can feel her warmth and the steady thump of her heartbeat. "I'm real. I'm not a dream. I love you and I want to get you out of here."

"I dreamed you," he says. "They told me I dreamed you."

"I'm really here, Mulder."

"They told me there are no angels."

She kisses his hand again. "You used to call me that, do you remember? When we were lovers? You'd hold me to you so tightly and you'd tell me I was your guardian angel. Do you remember, Mulder?"

"I remember my angel."

"Can you stand up for me, Mulder? So we can get you out of here. I have a car on the other side of the wall. We'll have to climb a rope, do you think you can do that?"

"You can make us fly."

She says, stroking his cheek with her thumb, "I'm not really an angel, you know. I'm just a woman who loves you. I can't fly, I can't walk through walls. If I could I would have gotten you out of here long, long ago, before they hurt you so much. But I can't. So we have to sneak out of this building and climb a rope over the wall."

"I can see your wings, Scully."

She gives a tiny sob and presses her face against his neck. "Mulder, please try and stay with me. You have to stand up. You have to walk. I can't carry you, as much as I'd like to. Please, Mulder. Try to stand up."

He smiles at her. He can't help it. He knows she is sad and he knows he is making her sad, but he can't stop the smile. She is so pretty and her voice is so gentle, and her gold and white wings cocoon around them both. He wonders why she doesn't know they are there.

"There, there," he says, wiping her tears away with his fingers. "Don't cry, pretty Scully. I'm ready to go whenever you want me to."

"Then stand up, Mulder. I'll help you." She sits up and puts her hands under his arms. "Sit up, Mulder."

He does so, groaning. The world swims in and out of focus, but she is still there, shining in the darkness. She has to hold him upright while he catches his breath.

"It's been a while for you," she says, and he knows she is still sad even though he is doing better. Maybe she'd be happy when he gets on his feet.

He swings his legs off the bed and she moves to stand up herself. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself up, holding onto her hands, and he sways on his feet and clings to her. But he is standing. He smiles at her proudly.

"Take me home, angel," he says, and she kisses him again. She is tiny, but he remembers that too, that when he held her he would be filled with the need to protect her. Who from, though? There are bad people who no faces . . . a man who breathed smoke . . .

There are voices and footsteps down the hall, and he hears her gasp. Her arms tighten around him, and she whispers, "Don't move."

He holds onto her and closes his eyes. She might make them invisible, so the orderlies will just walk on by.

But instead the door to his room swings open and the light snaps on. He hides his face in her neck and waits for the miracle to come.

But instead she is torn from his arms. He watches in horror as an orderly lead her away and the other two pull him back to his bed, and Lucas already has the needle out—no, not the needle, please not the needle, he wants to remember this—

"Scully!" he screams after her, and he can see her twisting and writhing to get out of the grip of the man who hold her. The orderlies wrestle him to the ground and he fights them, snarling and screaming, "Scully! Scull-leeee!"

He feels the prick of the needle in his arm, and Lucas says, "Hold him, put the restraints on him. Take her to my office. Call the police. Call Mr. Davis. I know he's in Europe, call him anyway."

"Scully," he whispers as he feels the restraints go around his wrists and ankles. A tear or two trickle down his face. "Scully."

===== Five =====

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dr. Lucas said as soon as he opened the office door. "Who the hell are you? Did you think you could just bust in here like a knight errant and whisk him away?"

"My name is Dana Scully. I am a doctor and an FBI agent." Scully folded her hands together. She had been looking around the office while she waited, furious and seething, but she restrained herself from doing anything more. She was in trouble. She knew it, and she also knew it would be difficult to extricate herself from it. One thing at a time, though.

Lucas shook his head. "Scully. You came by earlier today."

"I did."

"So because I couldn't see you, you decided to take matters into your own hands. And you're an FBI agent? You should know, then, that this was a foolhardy undertaking—and highly illegal. As soon as the police arrive I'm having you arrested for breaking and entering and attempted kidnaping."

"It's not kidnaping. I'm taking him home."

"Agent—Dr. Scully, William is not capable of living in the outside. He can barely function—"

"His name is not William. His name is Mulder. Fox Mulder."

Lucas waved his hand. "Nonetheless, he is not capable of living on his own. He needs constant supervision, medication and care. Even if you are a doctor and an FBI agent, you can't take care of him yourself."

"He talked to me."

Lucas stared at her.

"He stood up of his own volition. I had to encourage him but he stood up. He stood up. He talked to me. Now as I understand it, he's been catatonic for months. You tell me, Dr. Lucas, do you think it would be a good thing for him to continue seeing me?"

"We had to sedate him when we took you away."

"I'm sure he thought you were going to hurt me. Or he knew you were going to hurt him."

"He's been well-treated here, Dr. Scully. We've done everything within our ability to make him comfortable."

"No. He needs to be with me, that's the only thing that will help him. He needs to be with people who care about him. He needs to be with his friends and his family."

"I suppose you're going to tell me that Alex Davis is not his brother."

Scully raised her chin. "Mulder has two living blood relatives. His sister, and his son."

Lucas studied her. "The young man who was with you."

Scully held his gaze cooly and didn't answer.

Lucas sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what to make of this. I was going to return your call in the morning."

"At which time you would have told me that Mulder isn't allowed visitors, you're very sorry, goodbye. And I would be right back here."

"Dr. Scully, I don't know how much experience you've had with the mentally ill—"

"Mulder is not mentally ill. He's been abused, tortured, I don't know what-all, but he's not mentally ill. He does remember things, but he doesn't know how to process those memories or put them in context. I can help him remember, I can explain his memories to him.He needs to be with me—at the very least he needs to see me. He needs to—"

"For someone who hasn't seen him for almost twenty years, you're very certain of what he needs."

Scully clenched her jaw, and managed to say, "That was not my doing. If I'd known where he was, I would have been there. I would have been here. Although I can guarantee if I'd been allowed to see Mulder years ago he wouldn't be in the state he's in now."

"Very touching, but make no mistake, we are going to press charges against you. This is serious. You've probably set William's progress back by months."

"What progress? He was catatonic! Do you even talk to him, doctor? Do you try and understand what he's thinking, what's going on in his mind? Or do you just feed him and keep him sedated and restrained?"

"That's enough, Dr. Scully." Lucas stood up from behind his desk. "You'll have to wait here until the police arrive."

"I want to see Mulder."

"Not on your life." He started to leave the office.

"Let me see Mulder before the police come or believe me, there will be trouble on your hands."

"I'll keep that in mind, to tell the police," Lucas said, and slammed and locked the office door.

Scully squeezed her hands together, struggling to keep her anger under control. This was not over. Even if she was in jail they couldn't prevent Ben from seeing Mulder, and the guys had a few more ideas to try—though they'd be so displeased to learn she'd gone ahead without them.

I should have waited, she thought. I could have used some backup.

And Mulder, her poor Mulder, languishing in his cell upstairs—and it was a cell, no matter what they called it—sedated like a mad elephant. Scully closed her eyes and willed him to feel her love, even through these walls.

The fight has just begun, she thought. They're the crazy ones if they think otherwise.

~*~*~*~*~

"You know," Ben said as he looked at Scully across the table, "I always thought you'd have to bail me out of jail, not the other way around."

"I haven't been given bail yet. It's going to be a large amount, I'm sure, so let the guys take care of it from our account." She ran her hand through her hair. She looked smaller than usual in the orange jumpsuit the jail had given her, and Ben had to wonder how she was coping.

He said quietly, "Did you really see him, Mom?"

"I saw him." She pressed her lips together. "I talked to him. He—he needs us, Benjie."

"Did he know who you were?"

"He remembered my name."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?"

"It's a good sign, I think. Honey, I want you to go home and wait until everything is settled here, okay? I don't want you to miss any more school."

"But Mom—"

"Ben, I'm serious. Go home with the guys. Call Grandma Maggie and Walter, and call Janine at work on Monday morning. Janine gets the edited version."

"But what about you?"

"I'll have to wait until bail is posted to do anything more."

"I wish you'd brought me with you."

"The last thing you need is a criminal record."

"And what about your criminal record?"

She smiled. "Did I ever tell you about the time I was jailed for contempt of Congress?"

"Mom . . . you are nuts."

"Yes, dear, it's possible. Be good, okay? Only one of us in trouble at a time."

"I'll be good. Did I tell you I'm getting a tutor for calculus?"

"Are you? Good."

They looked at each other for a moment, then Scully reached across the table to take his hand. "I love you, sweetie," she said quietly. "I'll come home as soon as I can."

Ben nodded, sighing. He squeezed her hand and let it go, and she stood up and followed the matron out of the visiting room.

After a moment Ben stood up too and started out of the police station. He had to sign out, and the officer at the desk shook her head as if to say, What a disgrace, visiting his mother in jail. Ben wanted to say something—"Don't you dare judge my mother"—but he just glared at her and walked out of the station, his hands in his back pockets.

When she called him from jail, Scully had sounded so calm he thought she was in shock. I broke into the asylum. I've been arrested. I talked to your father. As simply as if she were saying, I put gas in the car, or I'm going to the bank later.

He didn't know what upset him more, that she had been planning this all along or that she didn't tell him beforehand. It was just so weird to think about his mother breaking into an insane asylum, of all places, as if she expected to not just find his father but to get them both out. But then, really, that was his mom: she made her plan, she acted on it, she adapted it as needs arose. Her outward serenity probably meant her mind was racing towards the next move.

Ben had taken a cab from the hotel, but he decided to walk back. The guys wouldn't be there for another couple hours anyway, he'd called them as soon as he got off the phone with Scully. There was nothing for him to do until they arrived. He 'd only gone a block or two when he started getting a weird feeling between his shoulder blades, the same one he got when someone was staring at him in class, that he sometimes got on the street—just before Scully would grab his arm and pull him into a shop, and they would wait until she felt it was safe to go back out. He'd never asked her who they were hiding from. He wished he had.

He also had no desire to duck into a coffee shop and wait his follower out. Confrontation, he decided. Why be a coward, today of all days? His mom had always told him to be brave.

Ben stopped short and whirled around. A few people glanced at him and went on walking, but another man, a tall one with salt-and-pepper hair and a leather jacket, stopped walking too and bent over to look at a newspaper kiosk. Ben took a deep breath and walked up to him.

"Hey," he said, and was thankful his voice didn't squeak as it sometimes did when he was nervous. "You're following me—why?"

The man straightened up. He was maybe fifty, maybe older—it was hard to tell because his face was so worn. Scarred and craggy like he'd spent most of his life getting into and out of trouble. His clothes were far too young for him, the leather jackets and the t-shirt and the jeans and the motorcycle boots. They were all frayed, too, like they were all he'd been wearing for months.

He smiled at Ben and stuck out his hand. "You're Ben Scully."

"I know who I am."

"We have some friends in common, Ben. I've been keeping an eye on you for a long time." He pulled his hand back and said, "The name's Krycek. Why don't you and I have a drink?"

"I'm underage."

"I'll buy you a cup of coffee. Come on."

Ben hesitated, then followed him into the coffee shop. They both got large cups of regular, and got a table near the window. Krycek sat facing the door. He drank his coffee black, and Ben decided to forgo his usual sugar. It was a dark roast, more bitter than the stuff Scully got, and he grimaced.

"So," he said, "You're the infamous Alex Krycek."

"In the flesh."

"So why'd you show up now?"

"Seemed like a good time. Shit's happening, I figured I should be here."

"Yeah, my mom gets arrested and you decide to show your face."

"Actually, I've been here a couple days."

Ben put down his coffee cup. "A couple days? What have you been doing, watching us?"

"Yeah, I had to figure out was going on."

"You've known where we've been all along?"

"I could always find you, yeah. Your mom's kinda . . . important. To me."

"Do I want to know why?" Ben growled, and Krycek chuckled.

"Don't get mad. Your mom's a nice lady, that's all."

"She says you know where my dad's been all along."

"Is that what she told you?"

"Is it true?"

Krycek nodded. "I've been taking care of him, yeah." He slurped his coffee. "Your dad's been through some serious shit, Ben."

"I figured. What's wrong with him? What did they do?"

"I'm not sure of all the details. I know they did a lot of stuff to his mind. They could pick and choose, you know, what memories they could make you forget. They could make people remember things that never happened. As far as I can figure, they wiped your dad clean."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I don't know what good they thought it would do. He'd already exposed the Project. Your mom knew as much as he did about it. I don't know . . . maybe something went wrong. Maybe they went too far and couldn't fix it. I don't know. But one day he showed up with some men that I knew, and they gave me a lot of money and told me to see to him. So I have been." He shrugged.

"But why you? Why not my mom?"

"I don't know. Maybe they figured she had enough to worry about with you."

"Don't you blame this on me."

"Hey, I'm just guessing here. God knows nobody expected you to ever exist. Anyway, they knew I'd take care of him."

"Why? You weren't friends."

"No." He sipped his coffee. "But we weren't enemies, either."

Ben smiled reluctantly. "You know, when I first asked my mom who you were she said you're the element of chaos in an orderly system. I'm beginning to understand."

Krycek chuckled again. "Is that what she calls me? Interesting. She's probably right. She often was. Look, um," he cleared his throat, "I'm going to go see her. I'm going to tell her what I've told you. And I guess we need to figure some stuff out."

"I don't know if she's going to be happy to see you."

"I don't know either. Probably not. It's okay. I'll talk to you more sometimes, Ben, all right?"

Ben nodded. "All right." Krycek nodded and stood up, dropped a bill on the table to pay for the coffee, and walked out. Ben watched him go, then quietly and slowly finished off his own cup, thinking.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He drifts.

He gradually becomes aware that his eyes are open and it is day. The restraints have been taken off while he was drugged. He flexes his hands and feet, and cautiously sits up.

The memory is clear and complete. The sight, the sounds, the touches and the scents. He thinks he could even taste her in the air, and he opens his mouth and breathes in, licking his dry lips.

The air tastes the same, but he smiles anyway. It feels strange on his face, and he touches his lips. A smile. He feels . . . happy.

Scully was here. She is real, she is not a dream. She is real and she loves him.

He doesn't know when she will be back, but he can feel her presence as surely as if she were standing beside him. She will be back. She is Scully, the angel of mercy and the angel of wrath.

He sits on the edge of his bed. She will come again soon, and he will wait.

===== Six =====

Alone in her cell, Scully lay on her cot and stared at the ceiling. It was grey and smooth, without even tiles or spots to count. That annoyed her: She wanted something mindless to do, something to keep herself from thinking anymore.

Or rather, she wanted something to distract her mind from the constant MulderMulderMulderMulder chant going through it, the longing for him that was only stronger for the brief contact, the need for him that was so demanding it was almost physically painful.

Oh, this is pointless, she thought, putting her hands over her eyes, and she gave herself over to remembering.

She had photographs, of course, precious few of them, but there were still pieces of him that had blurred in her memory. His voice, mainly, she had forgotten the exact timbre of his voice. His sweet raspy voice. The way he curled his mouth around her name—no one ever said her name like he did.

She had thought she was prepared for any changes in him, but no amount of planning could have equipped her for how he looked, how he sounded. His hair had gone completely grey, his face was lined, when she held him he felt so thin she could count his ribs. He looked fragile, far older than his fifty-six years, as if the constant pain and fear he lived under were eating him through.

But he had known her. Despite everything, he had known her. He had known her name—known, more or less, who she was. That had to mean something, didn't it? She was sure that her assessment of his condition was right: he remembered things but couldn't process them. He needed her to explain his own memories.

And how terrible it was that he could only remember the bad things he had been through, when his body had been invaded or his mind toyed with.

And her. Scully smiled. He remembered her.

. . . MulderMulderMulderMulder . . .

For seven years she had longed for him, all but lived with him but barely dared to even touch him. And then the barriers went down and they indulged in each other—not just indulged, feasted on each other—for exactly seventy-nine days. Seventy-nine days of passion and tenderness like nothing she'd ever experienced; seventy-nine days of making love at every opportunity, of falling asleep to the sound of his breathing, of waking up to his kisses; of teasing and playing and relaxing and making plans; of believing they had a future together, at last.

"Tell me anything," she'd said to him as they lay on her bed, the first time they made love. "Tell me anything and I'll believe you."

"The moon is made of cheese."

"I believe you."

"Thunder is actually caused by angels playing baseball."

"I believe you."

"You have the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen."

She had laughed. "I believe you."

"I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy, Scully."

He had run his thumb gently over her lips and she whispered, "I believe you," and pulled him down to her, and they both wept a little and kissed a lot, and their hands shook so badly they could barely unbutton their clothes.

Scully opened her eyes and laid her hands on her stomach. She was never able to pinpoint when they conceived Ben, but she liked to think it was over a particularly indulgent weekend, when they had made love in every room in her apartment, never dressed in more than bathrobes, and decided, after talking about it seriously over and over, that they did want to have a child. She liked to think that once the little Ben-spirit knew he would be welcome, he lost no time in getting himself born. She knew it was sentimental of her, but she still liked to think it.

Days sixty-eight, sixty-nine and seventy. When it had seemed nothing could go wrong and they had the rest of their lives to spend together in any way they chose.

And then it was over. He was torn away from her so completely it almost seemed he'd never been there, leaving her with only a tall, dark-eyed son to prove she'd ever loved a man named Fox Mulder.

She was not going to lose him again. Not without a fight, and she didn't care who she had to go up against: Lucas, the hospital, the law, Krycek, whoever was paying the bills, anyone else who stood in her way. Mulder needed her. Mulder needed to come home.

"Dana Scully!" the matron barked, and Scully sat up quickly. "You have a visitor." The matron unlocked her cell door and led Scully out to the visiting room.

She expected it to be Ben again, or perhaps one or more of the guys, but she didn't recognize the man who sat at the table. He had greying hair and green eyes, which he raised to look up at her lazily from reading a tattered manila folder. "Scully," he said as she sat down. "You know, for a federal agent you've got an interesting record."

She knew that voice. "Krycek," she said. "The rats come out of the walls sometimes, don't they?"

"I think the expression you're thinking of is rats are the first to desert a sinking ship. How're you doing?"

"I have an excellent view," Scully said dryly, folding her arms. "How did you get that?"

"I have connections. You know, you look great. The years have really been kind to you."

"You look like shit," she said, and Krycek chuckled.

"That's living on the run for ya. It could be worse. I gotta know, Scully, what did you honestly expect to accomplish, breaking in there like that? What did you think you could do?"

"I thought I could take him home. Though if you'd told me about his situation seventeen years ago we wouldn't be having this little tete a tete now, would we."

"I didn't know seventeen years ago. He was brought to me twelve years ago, by some people I knew. They told me to take care of him, so I have been. They also told me not to contact you."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask. They're not the kind of guys who take kindly to too many questions."

Scully felt a tear tumble down her cheek, and she wiped it away hastily. "What did they tell you? Anything at all?"

Krycek shook his head. "Nothing that could help you. Look, Scully, I know you don't want to hear this, but there's no point to this. He's not going to get better. Everything that they can do for him, you know, they've done it. He's not going to get better, Scully."

Scully took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I can't accept that. I have to believe that I can help him."

"You can believe it all you want, but it's wishful thinking. I'm sorry. I really am. You know if I'd thought for a second that you'd help him, that you'd know what to do for him, you know that I'd have brought him to you. But all your hope and your wanting . . . it'll just wear you out, Scully. I think I can convince the hospital to drop the charges if you agree to not come back. Go home, Scully. Go raise your kid, teach your classes. Forget about Mulder."

"I can't." It was taking all her will to keep control. "You can't honestly expect me to just walk away, not after I've been searching for so long. You didn't see his face when he realized it was me, that I was really with him. You didn't see his face when they were dragging me away."

"And you haven't seen him when he's uncontrollable, when it takes four men to hold him down and enough drugs to knock out a bull elephant to get him just to hold still. Do you honestly think you can take care of him, in the state he's in?"

"Yes. I think I can make him better."

Krycek shook his head again. "I see."

They sat there awkwardly for a moment or two. Scully said, looking down at her clenched hands, "I guess I need a lawyer."

"No," Krycek said softly, and Scully looked up at him. "It's not going to come to that. I'll talk to Lucas, see what I can arrange. I can probably make it so that you and Ben can visit him, at least."

"I want him out of that place."

"One step at a time, okay?" He stood up, and Scully sensed the matron had stepped closer to her. "I'll be back as soon as I have news."

"If you see him—" Scully began, and her throat closed and she couldn't speak. Krycek waited, and finally she whispered, "If you see him, tell him I miss him."

"Okay," Krycek said, and left the visiting room. Scully leaned her head on her hand for a moment, then stood up and followed the matron back to her cell.

^*^*^*^*^*

Ben parked the car in the carport and turned off the engine. He sat there for a moment, looking up at the house. Their automatic lights had come on inside, giving it the appearance of hominess—but, he thought, only the appearance. He sighed, got out of the car and his suitcase froa the trunk, and jogged up the front steps. He deactivated the alarm and went into the house.

It was too late to call anyone. He decided to call his grandmother in the morning, and the others could wait until after he'd talked to her.

He took his suitcase up to his room and went back to the kitchen to get something to eat. He opened the refrigerator door and stared at the fridge's contents for a while, then sighed and shut it. He wasn't hungry.

He was lonely and worried and pissed off. He wanted to talk to his mom. He wanted to figure out what was going on with this Krycek guy. He wanted to hear the rest of the story, that obviously no one had thought he needed to know before now.

Most of all, he wanted to see his father. He wanted to know that this guy was really his dad.

His dad. Geez. He'd become so used to not having a father that the simple thought was incredible. His dad. His father. The guy who's slept with his mom to make him—ew.

Ben shuddered at the unwelcome thought and went into the pantry for a bag of popcorn. Scully would hate for him to have popcorn for dinner, so he got a can of Spaghetti-O's too. A glass of milk and he'd have the four food groups.

He put the popcorn in the microwave and got out a pan for the Spaghetti-O's, and he noticed the light was blinking on the answering machine.

For a moment he stared at it, wondering frantically who it could be. Grandma? Skinner? Did Krycek have their phone number?

Okay, he thought, okay. It's probably Chris or Jeff. No big deal. Wondering where I've been all weekend.

He pressed Play and poured himself a glass of milk, and nearly spat it out at the voice on the machine.

"Ben? My name is Emma Hicks. I've been assigned to be your calculous tutor. I guess you're out for the night—it's Friday, by the way—so give me a call, like, tomorrow or something, okay? And we can arrange a time to meet and get started before the quarter ends. My number is—"

Ben slammed the Stop button and stood there, staring at the machine.

"Fuck," he said aloud, and got a paper towel to clean up what he's spilled.

Emma Hicks. There had to be a dozen kids in the tutoring program and he got her.

The microwave pinged and he got out the popcorn and poured it into a bowl. It could be worse, he thought. But not by much.

Emma Hicks was pretty. Emma Hicks was popular. Emma Hicks was everything he wasn't, and then some. Emma Hicks was from a completely different world than he was and there was no way in hell he'd be able to sit not a foot away from her and concentrate on math.

The first time he'd seen Emma Hicks was the first day of kindergarten. He remembered it perfectly: she'd worn a blue dress printed with little white flowers, and there had been a matching blue bow in her curly blonde hair. She'd smiled at him a time or two when she noticed him looking at her—okay, staring, he'd stared—but the first time he tried to approach her she was surrounded by louder and more giggly classmates, and he barely said a word to her through kindergarten, first grade, second grade . . .

No way in hell, he thought. Forget it. I'd rather fail calculus.

Because he could also perfectly remember the first time a kid called him a bastard, and the kid poked and taunted him until Ben ran at him, fists flying. And Emma had been there. And Emma—pretty, popular Emma, who liked everybody and whom everybody liked—had just stood there.

Fuck you, Emma Hicks, he thought, and snatched the boiling pot of Spaghetti-O's off the stove. I'll do just fine without you.

He got out a soup spoon, poured himself another glass of milk and went into the living room to eat his dinner and watch some late-night TV before he went to bed.

^*^*^*^*^*^

For the first time in he does not know how long, Mulder is impatient. Where is Scully? Why is she not here? He expects to see her every time the door opens and is always disappointed. A nurse, an orderly, even Lucas, but no Scully.

He hears the door unlock again and he looks up. "Scully?" he says eagerly, but it is not her. It is only Alex, who smiles at him.

"William. You're up."

"I want Scully."

Alex sighs and sits down at his side. "I know you do, buddy. Scully's going to be a while. She's in some trouble."

In his turbulent memories of the past Alex's face is the only steady thing. Mulder has always been happy to see him before. Alex is his brother, Alex loves him, Alex will always take care of him. But now he thinks, Alex has not told me all of the truth, and he wonders what else Alex is hiding.

When Alex reaches to touch his shoulder Mulder turns away. "I want Scully," he says again, and lies down, facing away from him. He does not say goodbye when Alex leaves.

======= Seven =======

It was hard to sleep in this place. They had put her separately, of course, several cells away from the two drunk boys who were the other inmates of the jail, but Scully could still hear them mumbling and moving around. The cot was hard and narrow, and the orange jumpsuit itched.

The inner MulderMulderMulderMulder chant would not cease. It's like a drug, Scully thought. You think you've got it out of your system, but one taste and you crave it as much as you ever did.

She lay on her stomach with her head pillowed on her arms. Her worry about Ben was just as unceasing. He was a good boy, she trusted him and knew he would not do anything foolish. Skinner would keep an eye on him, if it came to that, as would her mother, as would the guys.

But he was a sensitive boy, and she didn't know how this development—his father's sudden presence in his life, all of it—would affect him. She wanted to talk to him about it, to seriously talk. Ben would open up, if she were patient.

There's so much to say, she thought. So much I've left unsaid, because it hurt too much before.

She guessed it was morning. Dawn, or soon after. Dawn on a Monday morning, when normally she would be getting up in a few hours, preparing for the drive to work, to deliver her first lecture at eight a.m. sharp. Making sure Ben ate a decent breakfast instead of the Pop Tarts and coffee he preferred. He got his eating habits from his father, she'd once said to another parent, and the woman had looked so uncomfortable Scully had never brought it up again.

It would not be any easier to explain Mulder now.

She didn't care. She wanted him, his state of mind hardly mattered. She was sure she could help him more than any number of doctors, any amount of pills. But even if he never again was the man he had been, she didn't care. It was Mulder. It was enough.

And she still couldn't figure out how Krycek fit into it.

She heard the footsteps of the matron coming down the block. "Scully," the matron said, and Scully sat up quickly. "The charges have been dropped," the matron went on as she unlocked the cell door. "You're free to go."

"They have?"

"They have." The matron stood there with the cell door open. "Unless you'd rather stay."

"No, no, I'm happy to go. I'm just surprised." She stood. Her body was stiff from the uncomfortable cot, and her head swam for a moment. "Why were the charges dropped?"

The matron stared at her blankly. "They don't tell me the details, honey," she said. "Now are you coming or aren't you?"

"I'm coming." Scully thought as she walked down the block, as glad as she was to be free, it still didn't bode well. Krycek had pulled some strings, greased some palms, done something that would, no doubt, end up badly for her in the end.

But in the meantime, she would get her things, rent a car, and drive out to the asylum again. She would see Mulder before the day was done. She would call Ben. She would try to find a way to get Mulder home.

When she was dressed in her own clothes and on her way out of the police station, however, she saw Krycek lounging on the building's front steps. He was eating fast-food hash browns, and he smiled when he saw her and offered her the bag.

"Hungry?"

"No, thank you." He shrugged and popped a few more into his mouth.She said, "I suppose I should also thank you for convincing the asylum to drop the charges against me."

"You're welcome." He folded down the top of the bag and stuffed it in his pocket, and stood up, dusting the salt off his hands. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you out to Cove Point. For now Lucas will allow supervised visits." He grinned. "I convinced him to let me supervise."

"Oh." She made no move towards the car parked at the curb even when Krycek held open the door. She said, "I have to call my son before I do anything else today."

"He's at school. Or he should be, unless he's playing hooky."

Scully sighed. If Ben were playing hooky she'd find out soon enough, and if he wasn't there was no point in calling now. "All right," she said, and got into Krycek's car.

They had driven only ten minutes or so when Krycek said, "I went to see Mulder last night. He's . . . he's not good, Scully."

"What do you mean, not good?"

"He still won't eat anything. All he'll say is 'I want Scully,' if anything. He's vague again, he won't respond to questions. He's curled up on his bed and he doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to do anything."

"Can't you see how much he needs me?" Scully said quietly, squeezing her hands together.

Krycek didn't answer for a while, then said, "I can see it."

She looked at him for a moment, then looked out the window again.

"I owe you an apology," Krycek said after a while. "I honestly thought I was doing the right thing, not letting you know what was going on with him. I thought, maybe, I could bring him home to you whole, you know?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you even care?"

He looked at her for a moment, then chuckled hollowly and shook his head. "Because I do."

She looked out the window again, gnawing on her lip.

"I thought after enough time you'd let it go. You know, move on, find somebody else. I guess I should've known you wouldn't ever give up." He paused. "I know you a lot better than you think I do."

"Sure you do."

"I do."

"Then you also would have known that I couldn't give up on Mulder until every avenue was exhausted. Until I found him or his grave. And even then I wouldn't have rested until the DNA tests came back." She glanced at him. "I need to know that this is the real Mulder. I need to know that you're not jerking me around."

"I'm not, Scully."

"I want proof."

"Whatever proof you want, I'll get it for you."

They drove in silence the rest of the way to Cove Point.

^*^*^*^*^*

Dr. Lucas did not look happy to see them. "I would like to state," he said tartly, "that this is a bad idea."

"Couldn't get much worse," Krycek said, taking Scully by the arm, and after an skeptical glance at him, she decided to let him. If Krycek wanted to play a loving family member, she would let him do that too. "How is he doing?"

"Unchanged," Lucas said, and took them up to the floor where Mulder's room was. He unlocked the door and held it open for Scully to walk through.

Mulder was curled up in a fetal position on his bed. In the bright daylight he looked even more frail, more thin, more vulnerable. He didn't move at all when the door opened, and just cringed a little when Lucas said, "William, you have visitors."

She sat down on Mulder's bed and ran her hand lightly through his grey hair. "Mulder," she said softly. "Mulder, it's me."

His back was to her, and he didn't open his eyes. She combed her fingers through his hair and said, "I hear you haven't been eating much lately. Aren't you hungry?"

He still didn't move or answer, and she sighed and rubbed his back. "Mulder," she whispered. "Mulder, sweetie. There's so much I need to tell you. But you need to get better first. Don't you want to get better?" She touched his stubbled cheek, and felt, more than heard, him sigh. "Will you eat something for me, Mulder?"

His nod was hesitant, and he turned, very slowly, onto his other side so he could lay his head on her lap. "Hungry," he whispered, and slipped his arms around her waist.

Scully said to Lucas and Krycek, who were still standing by the door, "Could you please get me something he can eat? Something simple like applesauce."

Lucas started to protest, and Krycek interrupted, "If you wouldn't mind."

"I will be right back," Lucas said, looking none too happy about being the errand boy, and left the room.

"Now would be a good time to make a break for it," Krycek said, with an amused expression.

"Very funny." She stroked Mulder's hair and kissed his forehead. She glanced at the door. "How much time do you think we have?"

"Scully, I was kidding."

"I know. I want to see something."

"Ten minutes, maybe five. I don't know."

"It should be enough. Mulder, sweetie, I'm going to unbutton your shirt, okay? Is that all right?"

Mulder nodded, and moved a little so that he lay more on his back than his side. Scully unbuttoned his cotton pajama shirt and pushed it aside at his shoulder.

Yes. There it was. The familiar white scar where she had shot him once, long ago, to save him. A clone would have his blood type, his fingerprints, his DNA, even his teeth, but only Mulder would have that scar.

She hoped.

"Shit," Krycek said softly, and she glanced at him. She'd forgotten, for a moment, that he was there. "You actually did it. I never really believed it."

"I had to," she said. "He forgave me, eventually."

"I bet he never stayed mad at you long."

"No. Not long." She buttoned Mulder's shirt, and he curled up against her again. "My poor sweet Mulder," she said softly. "I'll get you home. I don't know how or when, but I will."

Mulder nuzzled his cheek against her thigh and said nothing. He hadn't opened his eyes the entire time.

Krycek came over the bed and sat down on the floor. "Scully," he said hesitantly, "I hope you understand what it will entail, taking care of Mulder on your own. I tried, years ago, when he was a lot worse—"

"Why did you put him in here? That's what I don't understand."

"It seemed like the best thing to do. The courts decided he wasn't mentally competent, and this place seemed better than the state asylum."

"It seems like a pat answer," Scully murmured. "No one understands his situation, so they declare him insane." She sighed. "Paranoid schizophrenia. Good God."

Krycek said. "That was the diagnosis."

"His medication—do you know what that does? Essentially they keep him tranquillized."

"I've seen what it does."

"But surely the doctors can see he's not insane at all, that's he's just confused."

"Do you want to try and explain what happened to him, Scully?"

"How could I, when I don't even know what happened?"

"Exactly."

The door to the room opened and an orderly came in with a tray. "Dr. Lucas said William wanted to eat."

"We're going to try and convince him," Scully said. "Thank you." She helped Mulder to sit up, and took the spoon and bowl of applesauce. "Here, sweetheart," she said. "Mm, you love applesauce, don't you?"She circled the spoon around the rim of the bowl, and held the spoon to his lips. "Doesn't it smell good?"

Mulder parted his lips and allowed her to feed him, though it seemed he had no more interest in eating than he did in speaking. He still didn't open his eyes.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Scully didn't know how long she sat with him. He ate only half the bowl of applesauce, and then pushed her hand away when she tried to feed him more. Again he curled up in her lap, and she stroked his hair until he was asleep. She kissed him and slipped carefully off the bed, and whispered, "I'll be back soon." She and Krycek left the room, and Lucas locked the door behind them.

"Well?" Lucas said. "I hope by now you're convinced how incapable William is of functioning in the outside world."

"I'm convinced that with my help he'll be able to."

"Dr. Scully, really," Lucas began.

"I think," Krycek said, and the others both stopped and looked at him. He folded his arms over his chest. "I think she's right."

"Oh, not you, too."

"I'm serious. I think Dr. Scully is right. I think she does William good. And I think William is not quite ready to leave, but I think he will be, soon, provided he's allowed to see Dr. Scully on a regular basis. Once a week, maybe, while school is in session?"

"I can take a sabbatical next quarter," Scully said. "I could come every day."

"That sounds good," Krycek. "I know he'd love seeing you."

"Wait a minute," Lucas said. "We have policies. We have regulations. And the state of Virginia still considers him too dangerous to be allowed on the streets."

"He can be retested. He's been here for, what, two years? Surely you'd like to prove your treatment is effective. I'd like to see some proof of that, in fact," Scully said cooly.

Lucas narrowed his eyes at her and said, "Dr. Scully, I'd like to ask you again: what do you know about the mentally ill?"

"I know enough. Alex was kind enough to give me some reading material on the way here. I know your diagnosis and I know your treatment, and I know what it's been doing to him. You just don't want to admit that you misdiagnosed."

"William has no concept of the world around him. He cannot distinguish reality from fantasy. He has inappropriate responses to everyday stimuli. He is a sick man, and a dangerous one, and I cannot in good conscience allow him to leave."

"I want a second opinion. I want an independent doctor to speak to him."

"Any psychiatrist worth his sheepskin will tell you the same thing," Lucas said. "Paranoid schizophrenia. It's tragic—I understand he used to be brilliant—but it happens. And you can't change it, Dr. Scully, with all the love and hope and whatever you're offering. Love is not a cure."

Scully swallowed and looked away for a moment, and Krycek put his hand lightly on her arm. She said, "Neither is medicating him into a stupor."

"I can see there's no convincing you."

"You're right."

"Dr. Lucas," Krycek said, "I'd just like to mention something else. I'm still his legal guardian, and I don't need a court order to transfer him to another facility. If it takes finding a more sympathetic doctor, I will find one."

"We were good enough for you when you brought him here."

Krycek smiled, and it didn't quite reach his eyes. "That was before," he said, and took Scully's hand. "We'll be back."

Outside of the building, Scully sank down on the steps and put her hands over her eyes. "God," she whispered. "This is a nightmlare."

"You know I'll help you any way I can," Krycek said, as he sat down on the step beside her. "I've got the money for it."

"From where?" She took her hands away from her eyes and looked at him.

"Oh, here 'n' there. Don't worry about it. It's clean."

"Because it's been laundered, I suppose."

"Scully," he said, "you don't have to like me. Just try to trust me, okay?"

"I'll try," she said quietly. "Right now I'd like to go back to the hotel and call my son."

"My lady's carriage awaits," he said, and helped her stand.

*=*=*=*=*

It took three tries to get Ben at home, but Scully supposed she had called too early anyway. "Benjie, sweetie," she said with relief when she heard his voice. "You're not going to believe what's happened today."

"Grandma is furious. Janine slightly less so. Are you okay?"

"The asylum dropped the charges. I'm good. I saw your father again. We're working on arrangements to visit him, maybe to transfer him closer to Georgetown."

"When do I get to meet him, Mom?"

She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "I have to tell him about you first. We haven't had what you'd call a conversation yet. He's . . . he's in really bad shape, Benjie."

He sighed too. "So when are you coming home?"

"I don't know. A few days more. Do you need money for food and stuff?"

"I'm okay."

"Eat some fruit once in a while, not just pizza and popcorn, okay?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Did you get all of your homework done?"

"Yes . . . most of it."

"Benjie."

"Mom, the calculus is too hard. I'd rather take an elective—I've got all the math requirements I need."

"Math helps you learn to think, honey. It teaches you logic."

"I know, I know, I know. That's also what you said when I started music lessons. I think just fine. I'm very logical."

"Yes, you are, except when it comes to your grades."

"Are you going to lecture me or can we talk about important stuff?"

"This is important. What about your tutor? Did they assign you one?"

"They assigned me one," he said with a sigh.

"And?"

"She's not going to work out."

"Did you talk to her?"

"I don't have to talk to her, I just know."

"Why do you know?" Silence on the other end, and Scully said, "Ben, it's not logical to turn away help when you need it."

"Mom, she's . . . she's *popular.*"

Scully rolled her eyes and said, "So tell me why that's a problem."

"We're not going to have anything to talk about. She'll be all patronizing."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I know, okay? I know these people. I've spent eight hours a day with them every day, for the past eleven years. I know who she is and I know what she's like, and I just . . . I would like to spare myself the humiliation of this girl telling all her little cheerleader friends how dumb Ben Scully is."

"You're not dumb, sweetie."

"Yeah, but I'm not Mr. Popularity, either."

"You know, you are so much like your father it's frightening sometimes."

"Not a ladies' man, huh?"

"No. That suited me, though. Not every girl wants a smooth, suave ladies' man. You know, Benjie, nobody says you have to date her. Nobody says you even have to like her. Just let her help you. You need help and she's willing to give it." She paused, and chuckled to herself.

"What?"

"I just realized someone said that to me earlier today. Neither of us trust people easily, do we."

"So I can blame it on my genes?"

"Consider it an inherited condition you need to overcome. Will you call her back? Make an appointment?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Okay. I love you, sweetie. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Good night, Mom. Love you too. Hey, um—next time you see my dad, will you tell him—" He broke off.

"What?"

"I don't know. Never mind. He wouldn't know what you were talking about, anyway. Good night."

"Good night." Scully hung up the phone and lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling. She would tell Mulder about Ben as soon as she was sure he would understand. "Mulder, we made a miracle," wouldn't make any sense to him now.

She had to smile, though. No matter what his state, Mulder would have an interesting reaction to the sudden introduction of a teenaged son.

====== Eight ======

Mulder was fading. Scully could see it in his eyes.  The hope of finding her had sustained him; the limbo in which they had placed him now was killing him. He ate only if she fed him, and spent their time apart sleeping or staring at nothing.  He spoke to no one. Not even Krycek could coax a word out of him.

Still, they had brought an independent psychiatrist to talk to him, over Lucas's protests. Scully had worried that an associate of Krycek's would not be reputable, but she'd heard of Dr. Mecham and read some of his papers. "I approve," she said softly to Krycek as they waited in one of Cove Point's conference rooms.

"Thought you might." In his dress shirt, tie, jeans and leather jacket, Krycek reminded her of Ben when he had to dress up and didn't want to. He's an overgrown boy, Scully thought, and wondered, not for the first time, what turns his life had taken to bring him to this point.

The orderly brought in Mulder, and Scully forgot her questions about Krycek in her eagerness to see him.  She stood up to help him into his chair, and he smiled feebly and took her hand in both of his.

"How are you, sweetheart?" she said, leaning over to kiss him, and he sighed and lowered his head.

"Tired," he whispered.  "I'm so tired."

"I know.  Did you eat some breakfast today?"

He shook his head. "Not hungry."

"You need to eat, Mulder." She touched his scruffy cheek gently.

He sighed again and leaned over to lie his head in her lap. "Want to go home," he murmured, and she sighed herself and bent over to kiss him again.

"I know you do.  We're working on it.  This is Dr. Mecham.  He'd like to ask you some questions, okay?"

"Don't like doctors."

"I know.  But will you please talk to him a little, for me?"

He raised his head from her lap, but kept a tight hold of her hands. "Just a little," he said.

"How are you doing today, Mulder?" Dr. Mecham asked him, and Mulder shrugged.

"Okay, I guess."

"Do you know the date today?"

Mulder thought about it.  "Wednesday?"

Mecham scribbled on his pad.  "How about the year, Mulder? Do you know what year it is?'

"No."

"Hm-mm.  Do you know who the president of the United States is now?"

"No." He looked at Scully, embarrassed, and started to let go of her hands.

"It's okay, Mulder," she said. "Just answer what you know."

"Mulder," Mecham said. "You know Scully here, right?"

At last Mulder smiled.  "I know Scully."

"What is Scully's first name?"

The smile left as quickly as it had come. "I—I don't know."

Mecham nodded, still writing on his pad. "How about her birthday?"

"I don't know." His face was starting to flush.

"What's your birthday, Mulder?"

"I—October. It's in October."

"Do you know the day?"

"No," Mulder whispered, his blush deepening, and Scully wanted to cuddle him and tell him it was all right, he didn't have to answer any more questions, not to worry anymore.

"What is your first memory, Mulder?" Mecham went on in a gentle voice.

Mulder looked at Scully as if the answers could be found in her face, and he said quietly, "Patrick.  I remember Patrick. He was a nurse at the first hospital. He taught me things. He helped me walk.tHe taught me to talk. Sometimes he would read to me, if he wasn't too busy. He was my friend. He said he wished more people would visit me. When I told him about . . ." he paused, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth again, "when I told him about my angel, he said, 'She sounds beautiful.'"

"Your angel? Who is your angel?"

"Scully is my angel." He smiled genuinely now, still holding Scully with his eyes. "Scully has always been my angel. Scully saved my life. Scully saved my soul. Scully is everything beautiful in the world, don't you think?"

Mecham smiled gently too, and said, "Yes. I see."

^*^*^*^*^*

The entire interview took almost three hours. As Mulder grew more comfortable he talked more freely, though his words were always slow and carefully chosen.  Scully was afraid he would say something that could easily be misinterpreted—mentioning her wings, again, for example—but he didn't. He did sometimes sound vague and even confused, but with his soft voice and the gentle way he held onto Scully's hands, she couldn't believe anyone could find him dangerous.

"Well," Mecham said at last, "thank you for talking to me, Mulder. Your Dr. Lucas and I have a lot to talk about too."

"Can I go home now?" Mulder said, and Scully put her arm around him. He sounded so weary and sad. He sounded like Ben sometimes had when he was a boy.

"I don't think it will happen right away, but soon.  We'll get you home." He smiled at Mulder paternally and put his notepad away. "Dr. Scully, can I speak to you a moment?"

"Of course." Mulder gripped her hands tightly and she kissed his forehead.  "I won't be gone long," she promised him, "and I'll sit with you while you eat dinner.  All right?"

"Okay." He let go of her hands, and let the orderly take his arm to lead him back to his own room.

"What's the verdict?" she said to Mecham.

"Whoever diagnosed him as schizophrenic was grossly mistaken."

"That's what I like about you, Al, always right to the point," Krycek said. He had sat  at the end of the long table, watching but saying nothing.

Mecham smiled and said, "I'm familiar with Dick Lucas. He's . . . he's easily led. If the people who wanted Mulder committed wanted him diagnosed schizophrenic, Lucas was the man to deliver. At worst I would say Mulder is severely amnesiac."

"He did attack people," Alex said.

"He was living on the streets at the time, wasn't he? I'd like to see his records from that arrest, and see if he was tested for drugs. I would guess those attacks were caused a bad trip, more than anything else. The first thing I want to do is get him off the Thorozine."

"How long until we can bring him home, then?" Scully said.

"I think you're going to want to find some in-home care for him first, before he gets released."

"I'm going to take care of him."

"And work full time?" Krycek said. "And what about Ben?'

"Who is Ben?" Mecham asked.

Scully looked from one man to another, and said, "Ben is my—our—son. Mulder's and mine."

"Oh," Mecham said. "I see.  How old is he?"

"Sixteen."

"Well, that should be easier than if he were a small child. Still, I think they should get reacquainted before Mulder is released."

"They've never met," Scully said, and Mecham furrowed his eyebrows. She took a deep breath.  "Mulder disappeared before Ben was born—before I knew I was pregnant. "

"I see." He studied her for a moment. "You hardly look old enough to have a sixteen-year old son."

Scully just smiled and said quietly, "Thank you. I'm going to make sure that Mulder eats something. Excuse me." She rose and left the conference room, for the familiar corridor that led to Mulder's room.

A tray had been brought and left on the floor, and Mulder lay on his bed, clutching his pillow to his chest. He glanced at the door when it opened, and he smiled when he saw her. "Scully."

"Hi, sweetheart." She went to him and kissed him, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Are you okay?'

"I'm okay."

"Are you angry with me, that I brought the doctor?"

"No."

She picked up the tray and put it on his bed, and Mulder reluctantly sat up. "We've got peaches and a BLT, Mulder, doesn't that sound good?"

"They only give me things I can eat with a spoon," he said, taking the bowl of peaches from the tray. "They're afraid to give me a fork or a knife."

"They don't want you to hurt yourself."

"I could do it, if I wanted to."

"Mulder . . ."

"I don't want to, Scully," he said quietly, looking up at her. "I'm just saying they wouldn't be able to stop me if I did."

"Mulder." She cupped his face in her hands. "I don't want you to talk like that. I don't want you to think like that. We're going to get you out of here."

"What if you don't?" She'd never heard him sound so defeated. "Dr. Mecham thinks I'm crazy."

"No, no, he doesn't. He thinks Lucas made a mistake. He thinks we can take you home soon, and you can meet some people who have really missed you." Mulder sighed, and she said, "Mulder, there's someone I want you to meet. Somebody who is very important to me."

"You got married, didn't you."

She laughed.  "No. Nothing like that. I don't know if you're going to understand this, Mulder, but we have a son, you and I."

Mulder's forehead furrowed, and he started to speak but stopped. He put down the bowl, and put his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to him. He rested his head against her belly.  She stroked both her hands through his hair and said, "His name is Ben, Benjamin. He's sixteen. He's wonderful, Mulder, he's smart and he's funny and he's so talented. He's so much like you. He even looks like you. He wants to meet you."

"When?"

"When what?"

"When can I meet him?" He looked up at her again, still holding onto her waist.

"I don't know.  Soon."

"You keep saying that."

"I don't know how long we will have to wait, Mulder, and I don't want to raise your hopes."

He didn't say anything for a moment, then whispered, "We had a baby?"

"Yeah."

"And now he's all grown up."

"Well." She smiled. "Not entirely. He's sixteen, hardly a baby anymore but hardly a grown-up, either."

"Ben," Mulder whispered, stroking her hip. "His name is Ben." He looked up at her again. "Scully, bring him to me soon, okay? I want to see him soon."

"Soon," she whispered.  "Will you eat something, Mulder? Please?"

After a moment he nodded, and she sat down beside him and watched him eat.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Ben shifted uncomfortably in his hightops and straightened his shoulders. The door to the math lab was open, and he had already walked past it a time or two, looking in. Finally he thought, You're being a moron, and walked into the lab.

Emma Hicks sat at one of the tables, reading and twirling a lock of hair around her fingers. She was dressed simply in jeans and a dark green t-shirt with a deep v-neck. She wore no jewelry and her hair was pulled back by a hairband of the same green. Her skin was like milk in the late-afternoon sun.

Girls don't get much prettier than this, Ben thought, and sighed as he walked up to the table. "Hey, Emma."

"Hey, Ben. I'm glad you changed your mind." She smiled at him and put the book aside as he sat down opposite her.

"What are you reading?"

"Oh . . . it's 'Lear.' You're good at English, aren't you?"

"I guess so."

"Maybe you can explain this to me sometime, because I don't understand half of what they're saying, even with the footnotes."

"Well, you just have to keep in mind that it's poetry."

Emma shook her head. "I don't see how that's supposed to help."

"Well, you look at the imagery and the metaphors and stuff. The footnotes explain the connotations things had to Shakespeare's audience, but you have to work out the whole meaning."

"Did your class do 'Lear' already?"

"Yeah, we did it first quarter. We're doing 'Slaughterhouse Five' now."

"Is that another play?"

"It's a novel. Kurt Vonnegut."

"I never read novels," Emma said. "I don't like things that are made up."

Ben leaned back in his chair and hung his arm over the back. "So you don't go to movies and you don't watch TV?"

"I watch TV."

"That's all made up. Most of it.  Movies too.  You don't like stories?"

"I like things that are real."

"Stories can be real. Some stories are more real than reality. Of course, my mom says what's real to you depends on the stories you believe."

"The truth is the truth, Ben."

"Not always. Sometimes what we're told is the truth is just a safe lie, because they think the truth is too dangerous for us to really know."

Emma looked at him for a moment, then chuckled. "You know, that's why I like math. Two and two is always four and all it takes is to solve for X."

"I like fuzzy logic," Ben said. "It leaves things open to multiple possibilities."

"You know, if I didn't know better I'd think you're trying to freak me out."

"Maybe I am," Ben said, and Emma laughed.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "You're a scary one, Ben Scully. Nothing's more terrifying than a guy who plays guitar during lunch and understands poetry. Where's your calculus text? Let's get this started."

Ben put his foot protectively on his guitar case, but opened his backpack and got out his book and notebook.  Maybe this would not be as painful as he imagined.

===== Nine =====

Ben knew Emma usually talked with her friends by the north third floor landing in the mornings, before the first bell. She was wearing a dress today, a slim black skirt and a pale grey top, with big clunky shoes that made her look even taller. Her hair fell in a single braid down her back.

Ben hung back on the stairs and sighed. He'd never tried to talk to her in front of other people-he wasn't sure how she'd take it. Maybe if he just walked past—

"Ben!" She'd seen him. She was smiling at him, leaning over the banister. "Hey, Ben!"

"Hey." He jogged up the stairs. "I've been looking for you."

"Do you want to do some drills before your quiz today?"

"Uh-no, thanks. I'm ready for it. Um . . . I was looking for you to tell you I have to cancel on you today. My mom needs me to come home right after school."

"Oh, is she back in town? I know you've missed her."

"Yeah," Ben said, wondering when he'd mentioned that he missed Scully. Of course he talked about her a lot, but . . . "Anyway," he said, "I'll be back by Monday."

"All right. Oh—and I meant to tell you—I got a ninety on my Lear essay."

"Hey, awesome."

"I think you ought to sign up as an English tutor. You're really good at explaining things."

"I—uh—no. I don't think so."

"Oh." She looked disappointed, and said, "Well, have a good weekend. Where are you going?"

"Virginia. It's family stuff."

"Oh." The bell rang, and Emma glanced overhead. "First bell."

"Yeah. I'll—I guess I'll see you Monday. Bye." He turned and started down the stairs.

"Hey, Ben, she called after him, and he paused and looked up at her. "Have a safe trip," she said, and bit her lip.

He smiled. "Thanks. Have a good weekend." He smiled and gave her a little wave and continued down the stairs. It wasn't until he reached the classroom that he realized he was still smiling.

^*^*^*^*^*

"No," Mulder said, clutching his pillow tightly. "I don't want you to go, Scully."

"It's only for overnight," Scully said in her most soothing voice, stroking his hair.

"You can't go, Scully. It's terrible when you're not here."

"But I'll be back tomorrow, and I'll have Ben with me."

He looked up at her for a moment, and his grip on his pillow lessened. "All right," he said. "If you're bringing back Ben. I guess that's not so terrible, if you're bringing Ben. But you'll be back tomorrow, won't you?"

"I will."

"I miss you when you're not here," he said quietly, brushing her fingers with his.

"I miss you too, when I'm not with you."

"When will I get to go home?"

"We're working on it, Mulder. It won't be much longer."

"And then will I live with you, Scully?"

"Yes. You will."

"I'm tired of this place."

"I know." She looked around the featureless room. "I'm tired of it, too. But do you remember, Mulder, before you came here, how you were and what you were doing?"

"I remember," he whispered, lowering his head. "I remember a lot of things. I remember more than they think I do."

Scully tilted her head to one side, curious. "What else do you remember?"

He hesitated, gazing down at his fingers brushing her hand. "I remember a bright, white place, and men's faces over me. I can't hear them speak but I know they're talking about me. They're saying, 'Too late, too late.'" He stopped and looked up at her. "I don't like those memories, Scully."

"I know you don't. I don't either."

"I don't know who those men are," Mulder said.

"It's all right, Mulder, you probably never will." She looked at her watch and sighed. "It's time for me to go."

Mulder stood as she did, and he put his hands on her shoulders and drew her to him for a brief, tight embrace. "It's no good when you're not here," he said, resting his forehead against the top of her head.

"It's no good at all, when we're apart," Scully answered, but stepped away from him resolutely. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mulder."

His smile was unenthusiastic and he turned to the wall again even before she closed the door. She watched him through the window in the door for a moment, then sighed and went to the conference room where Mecham, Lucas and Krycek were arguing over Mulder's fate.

She supposed that was melodramatic of her, but it summed up the proceedings well. Lucas refused to change his diagnosis and would not authorize any changes in Mulder's treatment. Mecham was talking possible legal action and Krycek listened to everything and said nothing. So Scully had no idea what plans he might have now. She half-expected, when she returned tomorrow, to find Mulder once again taken to parts unknown.

Stop it, she scolded herself. He's been supportive and helpful, whatever his motives are. He's not going to take Mulder and disappear now—he could have done it while I was in jail, if he were going to do it at all.

She lifted her chin and opened the conferences room door, and all three men looked at her.

"Good news," Krycek said, rising from his seat. "We're taking him off the Thorozine."

"That is good news," Scully said, and took the chair beside him, which he pushed in for her.

"I still want to put him in antidepressants," Meecham added.

"What about getting him released?"

Lucas sighed. "I can't in good conscience release him to the outside world—despite Dr. Meecham's theory. I still say he's a danger to himself and to others."

"But," Krycek interjected, "I can still check him out even if it's against physician's orders. I don't want to, but I will if I must."

"I think we ought to see how he interacts with the boy before any final decisions are made," Lucas said, but it was with an air of defeat.

"I would appreciate it if you would not refer to my son as 'the boy'," Scully said dryly. "So, assuming Mulder and Ben interact well, you'll authorize his release?"

Lucas looked at their three faces, and sighed. "Yes. I will. Under protest, but I will."

Scully could not stop herself from smiling. "Thank you."

"I expect you'll bring him back here within two months," Lucas said, "so don't thank me yet."

"And I expect not," Scully said, "so thank you. I'll see you all tomorrow."

Krycek stood up quickly, with an amused expression, and said, "Goodbye, gentlemen. Thanks again, Al." Mecham waved his thanks away and started gathering up his own papers, and Krycek and Scully headed out to the car.

As usual they were quiet on the drive, until Krycek said abruptly, "I'm seeing a lawyer later today."

"For what?"

"I want to sign Mulder's guardianship over to you. So you'll have his power of attorney and everything. So you can take care of him properly."

"Oh. Thank you."

"Because as soon as he's settled in with you I'm taking off again."

"Does that mean your life of ease ends?"

"You think I live a life of ease?" He laughed shortly. "I have to make an account of every penny I spend from that fund, and I have to spend it on Mulder—taking care of Mulder or getting to Mulder or transferring Mulder. I live on what I make myself."

"I guess that's not much."

"I'll be in the States a while."

"And that answers my question." Scully smoothed her pants over her knees and looked out the window.

"I've done the best I could," Krycek said after a while.

"I know."

"But he'll be happy—happier—with you."

"I hope so." She looked at him. "Are you going to come visit when he's settled?"

"I don't think that would be smart."

When he pulled up in front of her hotel he just smiled at her gently and said, "Bye, Scully." It sounded terribly final.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Ben fidgeted. He played with his tie, rolling up the end and letting it fall straight. His left leg bounced. He leaned over to Scully and said, "Where is Krycek?"

"I don't know."

"Will they let us see Mul—my father—without Krycek here?"

"Yes. Someone else will have to be here."

"And it'll be that doctor you don't like, I bet."

"Or Krycek's friend. Mecham. He's a decent person."

"Hm." Ben straightened his tie and smoothed it over his chest. He tried to smooth a crease in his pants over his knee, but it wouldn't smooth out. He drummed his fingers on his knee. He said, "Do you really think he's going to fit into my clothes?"

"You're about the same height and weight—actually, he's thinner than you are, I think. And it'll just be until we can buy him clothes of his own."

"Thinner than me?" Ben poked his flat stomach. "He must eat next to nothing."

"Thereabouts." Scully tucked her hair behind her ear. "Benjie. I'm not sure if it would be a good idea for you to call him Dad. Or Father, or whatever."

"I was thinking more like Papa or Pater." Ben scowled and looked away.

"Benjie, I'm serious. I'm not sure he understands what it means, that he's your father. I think you both would be more comfortable if you just call him Mulder."

"Not Fox, either, huh?"

"He always hated being called Fox."

"Fox," Ben muttered. "Have I ever thanked you for not naming me Fox Jr.?"

Scully chuckled. "No. But you're welcome."

The door to the conference room finally opened and they both looked at it. Ben swallowed hard and clenched his hands, and his knuckles cracked loudly in the quiet room. It was Mecham and Krycek, and another woman. Krycek said, "This is Laurie Boorstein. She's a local notary public. We'll sign some papers before we're done today."

Everyone quietly said hello, and Meecham said, "You must be Ben."

"Must be," Ben said, and looked away, embarrassed.

"You excited?" Krycek said, sitting down at Ben's side.

"Kind of."

"Nervous?" Krycek said sympathetically.

"Yeah."

"All these people," Scully said. "Mulder's not going to like that. Maybe the three of us ought to meet alone first."

"The four of us," Krycek said.

"Tell you what," Mecham said. "Why don't you and Dr. Scully sign your papers, and Ms. Boorstein and I will wait outside."

"Thank you," Scully said.

"All right, then," Boorstein said, and got some papers out of her briefcase. "These allow Dr. Scully power of attorney and legal guardianship of Fox W. Mulder. First, Mr. Krycek, if you please." Krycek took the pen and signed his name in several places, and pushed the papers over to Scully. She took the pen and signed her name in every blank. Boorstein said, giving Scully another sheet of paper, "This contains the numbers of accounts in Mr. Mulder's name, for his upkeep and maintenance."

Scully scanned the sheet quickly. There were names of foreign banks written there, and at the bottom an enormous sum of money. She was tempted to throw it away—but perhaps it meant they could save more towards Ben's college. She said quietly, "Thank you," and folded the sheet in half and handed it to Ben. "Hold this for me, would you?"

"Sure." He tucked it inside his jacket pocket.

"All right," Boorstein said, "that's everything. You are now the guardian of Fox W. Mulder, Dr. Scully."

Scully smiled—it reminded her of when the doctor had lain screaming, bloody Ben in her arms. Congratulations, you have just acquired a full-grown . . . she wasn't sure of what to call him yet.

Mulder. Just her Mulder.

When Boorstein and Mecham had left the conference room, Krycek folded his hands on the table. "Does Lucas know we're here?"

"He knows. We've been here for almost forty-five minutes."

"Jerk," Krycek muttered. "Making you sit here. What's in the bag?"

"Clothes. Clothes for Mulder to wear home."

"Well, it's up to you now."

"I'm taking him home today. If I have to drag him out."

Krycek smiled a little, nodding his head. "I thought you would." His foot tapped on the floor a moment, and he said, "Damn it, if Lucas doesn't come in here in five minutes I'm dragging Mulder out of here myself."

The door to the conference room opened and Lucas came in, followed by an orderly, and Mulder. "Well, here we are," Lucas said, and started to direct the orderly to have Mulder sit across from Ben.

But Mulder had stopped, and he gripped the back of the chair in front of him. "Ben," he said softly. "You're Ben. Of course you are. Ben."

"Hi," Ben said, and glanced at Scully.

"It's okay, Benjie," Scully said, and squeezed his hand.

Ben stood up and walked around the table to face Mulder. "Hi," he said again. Mulder's hand rose to touch Ben's hair, and Ben smiled uncomfortably and glanced at Scully again.

"Ben," Mulder said. "Ben. I don't believe it. You're Ben."

"Yes, sir."

"And your mother calls you Benjie."

"Yeah. I don't like Benny much."

"Benjie," Mulder said. "Ben."

"Yes, sir. Mulder. Dad."

Mulder's eyes closed, and he began to cry, very quietly. Scully rose at this, and went to him and put her arm around him. "Mulder, it's okay. It's okay, sweetheart."

Mulder turned his face towards her but didn't open his eyes. "He's real."

"Yes. He's very real." She stroked his face. "It's okay, Mulder."

He swallowed hard and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Sorry. I'm—you're Ben. You're really Ben."

"It's okay," Ben said, and awkwardly put an arm around Mulder too. He hugged them both tight, pressing his lips first to Scully's hair, then cautiously to Ben's.

Scully glanced at Krycek in time to see him wipe his eyes with his hand. He stood up and said, "Okay. You guys are good. I'm gonna go."

"Alex," Mulder said. "Thank you for bringing my family to me."

"Sure," Krycek said. "Goodbye." He left the conference room and shut the door behind him.

End Part I.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh shooting star that fell into my eyes and through my body—  
> Not to forget you. To endure."
> 
> —"Death", Rainier Maria Rilke.

==== Ten ====

"Did I ever live here?" Mulder asked when they pulled into the driveway.

"No," Scully said, turning off the car. "I moved here when Ben was a baby. Do you like it?"

"It's . . . big."

"You're going to love the backyard," Ben said. "It's a great back yard."

"It's a very big house."

"Mulder." Scully put her hand on his. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's an ordinary house. It's your home now. This is your neighborhood. We have some nice neighbors, you'll like them. And you'll meet your old friends soon, too."

Mulder squeezed her hand, still looking up at the house. "It's pretty," he said quietly. "It looks like a nice house. It looks like a home. It looks like how your home should look, Scully."

Scully smiled and opened the car door. "Come on."

Mulder got out of the car too, and stood for a moment on the driveway. He closed his eyes and held out his hand, palm up, in the sunshine. He felt pale, and small in Ben's clothes. The shirt was loose, the jeans gapped at his waist. When Scully took his arm he thought it was more to keep him from falling down than anything else.

"You think I'm fragile," he said as they made their way up the front steps. He could feel her curbing her normally brisk steps to match his slower pace.

"You're not in your best health, Mulder."

"Fragile," Mulder repeated, and Scully's hand squeezed his arm.

"You'll get your strength back. We'll take good care of you."

He sighed—he didn't mean his body, he knew his body wasn't strong—but Scully didn't want to talk about it. And Ben was unlocking the front door and holding it open, they were home.

Home. Mulder stepped inside and looked around the foyer. The floors were wood, the walls painted white with a trim of tasteful flowered wallpaper. There was a mirror in the front hall, along with a coat rack with billiard balls on the hooks. Mulder paused in front of it.

"That was yours," Scully said. "You told me once you got it while you were in England."

"When was I in England?"

"You went to college there. Oxford University. You got a degree in psychology there."

"Oh." He looked down at Scully's hopeful face, and sighed. "I don't remember it, Scully."

"I know. It's okay, Mulder." She tugged his hand gently. "Come see the rest of the house."

Behind them, Ben shot up the stairs with the suitcases. Mulder thought he might come down again and join them, but as they moved through the house he stayed upstairs.

As they walked through the kitchen, the living room, Scully's office, Mulder looked mostly at the pictures. There were many pictures of Ben at various ages. There was one picture of Mulder himself, on Scully's desk. Mulder picked it up and studied his younger self for a moment, then put it down. He knew his own face, but the man in the picture was a stranger.

"Mulder?" Scully came to him and took his hand. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. Who is this?" He picked up the framed picture of a little girl, and Scully took it and sighed.

"This is Emily. This is my daughter."

"I thought we only had Ben."

"Ben is yours and mine. I don't know who Emily's father was. I didn't give birth to her. It's a complicated story, Mulder."

"Where is she?'

"She died. She's buried in San Diego."

He studied her face, and put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead lightly. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, and Scully gave him a thankful smile.

"It was a long time ago."

"It still hurts you."

She lowered her head for a moment, and then looked up at him again. "Yes, it does. But not as much as it used to. Having Ben helped a lot. Having a child of my own, that I knew no one would take away from me—that helped me most."

"Was I there?"

"Yes. You were."

"Didn't I help you too?"

Here she sighed, and stepped from beneath his hands. "You did the best you could, Mulder. Come on. There's more to the house."

He watched her as she walked out of the office, and said, "Scully. Tell me. Please tell me. Were there times when we weren't friends?"

Scully twisted the doorknob in her hand, and said, "No. Sometimes . . . there were times you made me crazy. There were times you didn't trust me. There were times I couldn't talk to you, because I didn't think you'd listen. And there were times . . ."

"Tell me," Mulder said again, when she didn't go on.

"There were times I hated you."

He leaned against her desk and folded his arms over his chest. "I thought we loved each other."

"We did—we did—but it was always complicated."

"Do you really want me here?"

"Yes. Yes. I've missed you, Mulder, I've needed you. I've wanted you every day."

"Why?"

"Because I love you," Scully whispered, her face filled with pain. "Do you believe that?"

Mulder closed his eyes. "I wish I could remember."

"Mulder."

"I wish I could remember the first time I saw you. Did you smile at me, Scully?"

"Yes."

"Did I?"

"Yes. You teased me. I liked you right away."

"And love came later," Mulder said quietly.

"Later. But it came."

Mulder opened his eyes to look at her again. He had known her voice from the first time she spoke. He had known her face, her beloved face, even though he had begun to believe the memory was only a dream. He couldn't remember falling in love with her, learning to love her—but he knew he loved her.

And she loved him. He knew that, too.

"I bet I was impossible sometimes," he said, and she smiled cautiously.

"No more than I was."

"But we worked anyway, you and I."

"Yes. We fit. Like . . . puzzle pieces."

"And the pieces put together make . . ?"

"I always thought it was something beautiful."

Mulder unfolded his arms and walked to her, and took her hand from the doorknob. "Show me the rest of your house."

"Our house," she said, and he nodded.

"Yes. Our house."

^*^*^*^*^*

It was nearly ten-thirty by the time they finished cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, and Mulder couldn't stop yawning. "Don't stay up too late," Scully said to Ben as she took Mulder by the hand to lead him upstairs. Ben grunted, already flipping channels on the TV, and put his feet up on the coffee table.

They had looked over the upstairs earlier—Ben's room, guestroom, Scully's room, bathrooms—and Mulder stopped at the guestroom door. "Do you have something for me to sleep in?"

"Sweatpants and a tee shirt. Mulder—" she paused. "Mulder, I'd like—unless you don't want to, of course—I'd like for you to sleep in—in—in my bed. With me."

"Oh," Mulder said. "All right." Scully flushed and nodded, and continued leading him down the hall. Her hand was trembling. He wondered why.

Scully took a package of tee shirts out of the bureau and gave it to him, as well as a new-smelling pair of gray sweatpants. "Here. Is this all right, to sleep in?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"I'll—do you need the bathroom first?"

"No. I'm okay."

She nodded, pushing some hair behind her ear, and said, "All right, I'll be in the bathroom. If you need anything, ask, okay?"

"I'm okay, Scully."

"I know—-I just—" She sighed and went into the bathroom.

He sat on the edge of the bed with his hands folded. He listened to the sounds of her getting ready, cataloging each one. He knew he'd heard them before, he knew this routine should be familiar, that he should know what every sound meant and at what stage he should expect her to come out of the bathroom.

But the sounds—even the smells of her, of her house—brought back nothing. Not even a fleeting image of a memory—sometimes he had those, but they always fled before he could catch them, pin them down.

Scully came out of the bathroom at last, her hair damp around her face. Without makeup she looked even younger, a trim woman of forty, perhaps, instead of—whatever she was.

"Scully, how old are you?"

"Fifty-three." She got into bed on the right side and pulled up the blankets to her waist, sitting up with her back against the headboard. "And you're fifty-six."

"Hm." He flexed his hands, looking down at them. They were pale, slender, with prominent veins. He wondered how much they had changed since he was a younger man.

"Mulder?" She touched his shoulder and he stiffened for a moment, before turning to her and laying his head on her shoulder.  He put a cautious arm around her waist, and pulled her closer when she put her arms around him.

"Dana," he said, and she chuckled. "What?"

"You almost never called me that. It's strange to hear you call me that now."

"Scully."

"That's better."

"That must be why I didn't remember it."

"Though it amazes me you remembered me at all. You forgot so much else."

"But not everything," he said slowly.

"No. Not everything."

"I'm not sure what are memories and what are dreams."

"I imagine it's a combination of both. Memory reinterpreted through dreams. Or as dreams."

"But it can't all be memory. The monsters and the creatures—those must be dreams." She didn't answer and he looked up at her. "Scully? Aren't they?"

"I don't—no. Not all of them. Mulder, we saw—you saw so many things—inexplicable things—"

"Creatures," he said.

"Creatures. Monsters. People who were monsters inside. Evil things. Predators. People who preyed on the weak and the vulnerable."

"But we stopped them, didn't we? Isn't that what we did?"

"Yes. Sometimes we stopped them. Sometimes we couldn't. Like the people who took you away—I've never been able to find out who they were or why they took you."

Mulder shivered and tightened his arms around her. "I don't want to talk about that."

"All right. We won't."

She had been stroking his face and hair, his back and his arms, while they talked, and now she did so to soothe him until he stopped trembling. "Your sheets are soft," he murmured after a while.

"I like a comfortable bed."

"Tell me more about us. Tell me about the first time we kissed."

"Well," she said slowly, "we'd just come through a difficult time. I thought one or both of us was going to die. I thought the whole world was going to be destroyed. There were these—it sounds so ridiculous when I tell other people about it, even Ben doesn't entirely believe me—"

"You're stalling," he said, and she laughed.

"All right. No stalling. A long time ago some men made a bad bargain but we were rescued—saved—before it was time to pay up. You and I were rescued, literally. And when we walked away from that confrontation, knowing we were alive and safe and the world would go on just as it always had . . ." She paused, smiling. "We both were hurt. Sooty, there was a fire. We were tired and hungry and exhausted.

"We stood there in the light of the flames—there were people cheering all around us—and you were holding me so tight. I looked up at you and our eyes met, and it was like—like we'd never really seen each other before. Like every wall we'd ever erected came tumbling down. Like every reason we'd ever had for remaining only friends was completely destroyed.

"You took my face in your hands and you said, &#8216;We've got a future now.' And I said, &#8216;Yes.' You said, &#8216;Share it with me, Scully.' And I said, &#8216;Yes.'

"And then we kissed."

Mulder had taken her hand while she spoke, woven his fingers between hers, and he now gave her hand a light squeeze. She smiled and squeezed back.

"Seven years of devotion and passion," she said quietly. "It was . . . it was quite a kiss."

"Long?"

"Long. Hungry. On a scale of one to ten it got at least a five thousand."

Mulder laughed, and after a moment Scully did too. "What happened next?"

"Oh . . . it took a few days for us to get home. We had to rely on the kindness of our rescuers a lot. You weren't very happy about that. And when we did get home and told our friends what had happened it sounded implausible, even to us. And then we went to my apartment and slept for two days or so . . . and when we woke up we couldn't stop talking. There were so many plans to make. We talked about what we'd gone through, about things that had happened to us while we were apart. You cried and I held you. I cried and you kissed my tears away. You told me again and again we had nothing to be afraid of anymore."

"I'm sorry I was wrong," Mulder said softly.

"You couldn't have known. I thought we were safe too."

Mulder closed his eyes and sighed, more saddened by the story than he'd thought he would be. "How much time did we have? Before I was—before they took me away."

"Seventy-nine days. The happiest time of my life."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. Loving you—I can't even put it into words. I don't think I ever stopped smiling, the entire time. I don't think I ever laughed so much. It was like we had to make up for all the pain we'd gone through, all the hurt we'd ever caused each other. We made lo—we made up for lost time."

"And we made love," he said softly, and she sighed.

"Yes."

"We conceived Ben."

"Yes. And that's the part that always boggles my mind. We thought I couldn't have children. I think . . . while I was with the rebels they gave me something they told me would protect me. It was a—it opened my eyes, so to speak. I could see who were the invaders and who was on our side, and who were the regular people. It opened my mind in strange, wonderful ways. It was like taking a drug that cleared everything. And I think it healed me. It did something to me.It did a lot of things to me. I've never been sick since then, not even a runny nose."

"Was I given it?"

"No. I wonder if they had . . . well, no point in speculating on that."

Mulder stroked her arm. Her skin was fine and soft, scattered with freckles, a creamy gold color in the dim light of the bedside lamp. He felt as warm and safe as if he were wrapped in a blanket. Scully, he thought comfortably, my Scully, who loves me.

"You'll have to tell me everything," he said. "Everything about us. Everything about you."

"What about you? Don't you want to learn about yourself?"

He squirmed a little and said, "No."

"Mulder . . ."

"It's not interesting."

"Oh, you don't think so? You don't want to hear about your family or your childhood or anything like that?"

"Not especially."

"Well, I suppose I can't blame you for that." She kissed his head. "All in good time, I suppose. When you're ready."

"But I want to hear about Ben. Tell me everything about Ben." He yawned, and she kissed him again.

"Tomorrow. Go to sleep, Mulder. Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you." Mulder yawned and closed his eyes, and Scully reached over and turned off the light.

======= Eleven =======

Mulder had a brief moment of panic when he woke up, unsure of where he was and who this was beside him-but as soon as he saw her red hair he remembered. Home. Scully's home. Home with Scully. Home.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He ran his hand over his face and rubbed his eyes, and sat up carefully. Scully slept on beside him, her face tranquil. Her left arm, closest to him, lay up by her face, her palm open and her fingers curled slightly. Her hand looked very small. Mulder slipped his fingers over her hand and she stirred, turning her face away from him and rolling onto her side.

Wings, he thought, and was not sure why. Gold and white wings.

It must have been a dream. He'd had so many dreams. He smiled and kissed her forehead, and got out of bed, taking care not to wake her.

He was hungry. This would please Scully, he knew, she was worried about him eating enough. He certainly wasn't going to wake her up to tell her, though. He could solve this himself.

He could smell coffee once he was in the hall and something doughy and warm cooking as he went down the stairs. It did bring back a memory, though not one that he so desperately wanted: the hungry time, when he'd had nowhere to sleep and begged for his food, a kind-faced woman had given him fresh pancakes for breakfast outside of a restaurant. "These fell on the floor," she'd said, winking at him, and he'd winked back though he didn't know what the wink meant. He wasn't as hungry now as he'd been then, but still the scent caused his stomach to growl and his mouth to water.

Ben was cooking. He had the radio on, and as he waited for the pancakes to cook he'd shuffle a bit in a lazy-morning dance. He noticed Mulder standing in the doorway, and smiled uncertainly. "Morning," he said, and flipped a pancake.

"Good morning." Mulder stepped into the kitchen, and went to the coffee maker. This, he knew. He knew he liked this stuff. "Is this about ready?"

"Just about. The timer will go off when it is."

Mulder looked around the kitchen. "What can I do to help?"

"Um . . . would you like to set the table?" He hesitated. "Do you know how?"

"Knives in the middle and the plates on our heads, right?"

Ben stared at him for a moment, then laughed when Mulder smiled. "Right. Sorry. Of course you do. Sorry."

"I'm not completely helpless," Mulder said, and started opening cupboards, looking for the dishes.

Ben watched him, then said, "It's just weird, you know? Having you here, I mean. And I don't really know—I mean, how you are—"

"You don't quite know how to act around me." Plates. Pale grey with blue rims, and a blue drawing in the middle.

"Kind of. Sort of. I—it's going to take some getting used to."

"I know." Mulder set three plates carefully on the table. It was a small square table, with just four chairs. Perfect for just the two of them for so long, he thought.  At their hasty late-night dinner the night before, only he had hesitated about where to sit. "It's strange for me, too."

"Yesterday you were—" Ben stopped again, blushing, and poured more batter on the griddle.

"Ben. It's okay to say it. Yesterday I was a mental patient and today I'm a family man." He thought it over. "It is strange. It's a change for all of us. Where are the glasses? And the coffee cups?"

"In the cupboard over the microwave. The silverware is in that last drawer."

Mulder opened the drawer he'd pointed to. Three knives, three forks. The three of us, he thought, and with a sudden sadness thought, Just as it should have been all this time, maybe even more—brothers and sisters—she wanted a big family—

He put the silverware down and leaned his hands against the kitchen counter. It was like Scully was speaking to him, behind him and off to the left a little—"They do it just with a few eggs now, two or three at the most. Multiple births are too dangerous to the mother, and the babies. We could do it, Mulder. It's just a question of if we're willing to bear the disappointments." And himself, younger, confident, overwhelmed with love for this woman, "I hope we have twins." And Scully, laughing, "Let's start with one and see what happens, okay?"

"Dad? Mulder?" Ben stood at his side, the spatula in his hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm okay. Just—I think—" He shook his head. Her eyes had lit up when he said twins. She wanted a big family, like the one she grew up with, and he'd pictured her with an armful of babies—"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It comes and goes."

"You scared me for a second, there," Ben said, an went back to the stove.

Mulder placed the silverware carefully around the plates. Was it a memory? He wasn't sure. It seemed too sweet to be real. Had they talked about babies? They had lain in his bed and talked about babies. He was sure of it. Almost sure. They had held each other and named their children, laughing at first, coming up with as many variation of Fox that they could, and then seriously. If we have a girl I'd like to name her Lily. I've always loved the name Benjamin.

He had said it. He'd held Scully in his arms and said I've always loved the name Benjamin.

Ben was watching him, frowning, paying only minimal attention to the pancakes. Mulder smiled at him and said, "I named you."

"What?"

"I named you. Before you were born. One time we were talking and I said I like the name Benjamin, and here you are. Ben. I named you."

"Oh," Ben said, and puzzled at him a moment longer before turning back to the griddle.

Mulder stood there, wondering if maybe he was wrong-maybe it wasn't a memory after all, just a wish, maybe Scully had told him another story of how he got his name—and then went to the refrigerator and got out the pitcher of orange juice. He'd have to ask Scully. Scully could tell him what was the truth and what were only tricks of his mind.

"Now this is what I like to see," Scully said from where she was lounging in the doorway, and both men smiled at her. "You two can wait on my every need any time."

"Good morning, Mom," Ben said with relief, and she came over and kissed him briefly.

"These smell delicious."

"They'll be done in a minute."

"Wonderful." She came over to Mulder and hugged him tight. "I was worried, when you weren't there when I woke up."

"I was looking for coffee. And I found breakfast."

"So you did."

"And I didn't want to wake you. You're so pretty when you sleep."

She smiled and turned up her face to him. "Kiss me, please," she said, so he did.

"Minor present," Ben said, but he sounded like he was teasing.

Mulder rubbed Scully's back, still holding her close. He wanted to tell her about his maybe-memory, but decided to wait. He wasn't sure how to bring it up. Of course she wanted him to remember things but if he remembered things that weren't true, that would upset her, wouldn't it?

And he didn't want to upset her. Not this pretty, sweet-smelling woman who slept beside him so trustingly and kissed him so tenderly.

"Pancakes are on," Ben said, picking up the plate stacked high with pancakes, and they all sat down at the table after Scully grabbed the pot off the coffee maker.

^*^*^*^*^*

Ben watched them as they ate, the careful way Mulder cut his food, Dana's solicitousness, how they seemed hyper-aware of each time their hands brushed. Mulder watched her too, sometimes glancing at Ben and then shyly averting his eyes. Scully did most of the talking. She wanted to take Mulder shopping, if he felt up to it. And there were people who wanted to see him, would today be good or should they wait a while?

Ben had rarely seen his mother so happy. It was a subtle sort of happiness, not obvious to someone who didn't know her well, but he knew the signs. Her talkativeness, mainly—his mother was not a chatty woman. The light in her eyes. That she allowed their hands to brush and linger.

He was not sure what to make of Mulder. It was one thing to say, This is my father—it was another thing entirely to actually see the man, talk to him, to see his own eyes in this man's face.

My father, he thought. This is my father. He drank his coffee too quickly and it burned his throat. "Excuse me," he said, standing up and gathering up his dishes.

"Okay, Benjie," Scully said, looking surprised that he was finished so quickly. Usually Sunday breakfasts could take an hour, at least. "Do you want to come shopping with us? You could use some new clothes for summer."

"Oh. No. I'm okay for clothes."

"Are you sure? You don't need shorts or shoes or underwear?"

"Mom," Ben said, embarrassed, and Mulder smiled in understanding. "I'm okay. I promise. You two go, visit the guys, and  . . . whatever. I have homework to do."

"Okay. We won't go for a couple hours yet, so if you change your mind . . . "

"We'll see," Ben said, and rinsed off his dishes in the sink and put them into the dishwasher. Their arrangement was, whoever didn't cook did the cleaning up, so he just rinsed the cooling griddle and the blender, and left them in the sink. He went to his room and turned on his stereo, and got back into bed with the novel he was reading for English.

He'd only read a few pages when there was a soft knock on his door, and Scully opened to door. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah." He sat up and put the book aside, and Scully came in, stepping carefully around the mess on the floor, and sat down on the edge of his bed.

"What are you reading?"

"'Slaughterhouse Five.'"

"Oh, I like that one. I've always loved Vonnegut." She pushed her hair behind her ear and said quietly, "How are you doing with all this, Benjie? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Mom, I'm okay."

"I know it's sudden and strange and certainly not what any of us expected—"

"Mom. I'm okay. It's what you want, right?"

She looked out his window for a moment, then said, "I hope it's what you want too."

"Look—" He sighed. "It is weird, but it would be stupid to expect us to fall into some kind of—pattern—right away, don't you think? We barely know him. He doesn't know us. You've got to admit that, Mom, he really doesn't know who you are."

"He knows enough."

"He knows your name is Scully and he knows you love him, and that's really it."

"He trusts me. I don't think he'd do that if he didn't know—deep down—who I am."

"Do you think he really—do you think it'll ever come back to him?"

"It's not like a TV show, where he gets hit on the head and suddenly it all comes back to him. Damage was done. You can't fix the brain the same way you fix a broken limb." Her expressive eyes fixed on him, and she smiled. "And he knows you're his son. I think he truly understands that."

Ben smiled back uncomfortably and said, "Well, that's all fine and good, but I really don't see how it changes anything or helps him."

"It's the connection right now, Benjie, that's important. He wants to love you. I hope you're going to try and love him back," she said quietly, a question in her eyes, and Ben sighed.

"I'm going to try. Okay? I'm going to try."

"Thank you." She ruffled his hair affectionately and stood. "Are you sure you don't want to go shopping with us?"

"I'm sure. Thanks, though. I need to read . . . and I thought maybe I'd go running later."

"Okay. I tried calling Grandma Maggie but only got the machine, so if she calls back tell her where we are, okay?"

"I will."

"And I'm thinking chicken for dinner tonight. How does that sound?"

"Sounds fine."

"See you later." She left his room and shut the door behind her.

After an hour or so Ben heard them leave, and he got out of bed again and changed into his running clothes. There was a park a few blocks from their house with some good running paths, and Scully preferred he go there than any place else because it was well-tended and busy.

He rode his bike to the park and locked it up at an already-crowded rank, and stretched for a few minutes as he decided which path to take. By the pond would be good, he hadn't taken that one in a while . . .

Oh, it was good to run. When he was small his mother had gone running with him in a stroller contraption that she could push. He'd joined her on his bike for a while, pedaling madly to keep up with her pace, and then finally when he was nine or so he ran along beside her. But she hadn't gone running for a while, preferring exercise that was easier on her joints. Now she rode the bicycle when they exercised together.

He liked the rhythm of it, the ache in his lungs, how easy it was to clear his mind. Running, he thought, is the ultimate therapy. Maybe when Mulder was stronger he'd bring him running with him, if he wanted.

A bicycle bell rang behind him and he moved from the middle of the path to the side, and two bikes whizzed past him. The third went past him but stopped a few feet in front. "Ben! Hi!"

It was Emma. Her hair hung in braids from beneath her helmet, and her legs looked impossibly long in her shorts. Ben smiled and jogged up to her. "Hey, Emma."

"How was your trip? The 'family stuff', did it go okay?"

"It was good. It went okay." He shuffled his feet as the other two bicyclists turned and rejoined them—an older man and a girl a year or two than Emma.

"This is Ben," she told them, and the girl giggled. "This is my dad and my sister ZoÃƒÂ«."

"Hello, Ben," said Mr. Hicks, and ZoÃƒÂ« giggled again. "Honey, why don't you meet us over by the waterfall."

"Okay," Emma said, "I'll be there in a few minutes." She smiled after them, and looked at Ben again. "So your mom's back?"

"Yeah. She's back."

"And the family stuff?"

He wasn't sure how to answer this. "Taken care of," he said, and Emma looked a little disappointed. Well, what do you want, he thought, for me to confide in you or something? "Bye, Emma," he said, and started running up the path again. It forked off a few hundred feet ahead—towards the waterfall to the right, towards the playground to the left—he'd take the left fork—

He stopped and looked back, to where Emma still stood, her bicycle leaning against her hip. Her mouth trembled for a moment, then she got onto her bike and rode past him quickly, taking the right fork.

I did a bad thing, he thought, watching her go.

He started running again, and took the right fork.

When he reached the waterfall the three of them were standing beside it, Mr. Hicks had his arm around Emma's shoulders, and ZoÃƒÂ« stroked her arm sympathetically. Ben hesitated, and jogged up to them. ZoÃƒÂ« narrowed her eyes at him, as threatening as only a pissed-off thirteen-year-old can be. Mr. Hicks kept his face neutral, and said quietly, "Emma."

She looked up at Ben. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet. "What do you want?"

"Emma . . . that was rude of me. I'm sorry."

She pursed her mouth sullenly and said, "Whatever. I won't bug you anymore."

"Emma—look—" He wished he could block out her sister's accusatory eyes. "It's like this. Things are weird at home, and it's hard to talk about. To anybody. You're not bugging me—I just—" He looked at the face of Emma's father, who looked wise and kind and protective of his daughter.  "It's hard to talk about."

ZoÃƒÂ«'s expression softened a little, as did Mr. Hicks's, and Emma said quietly, "When you said it was okay I thought—"

"I know. Look, don't worry about it. You don't have to worry about my weird family, it's not—you don't need to bother yourself."

"But I want to," Emma said, and Ben wondered at how brave she was, to say this in front of her family. Or maybe she was brave because her family was with her.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "But not today. Okay?"

"Okay." She nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Right. Bye," he said to all three of them, and started jogging up the path again, back towards his bike, to go home.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Mulder was quiet as they drove to the mall. "There are a lot of people here," he said as they pulled into the parking lot.

"Yeah, there are," Scully said, squeezing his hand. "Are you going to be okay with this? If it's too soon—"

"I don't know how happy Ben will be with me wearing his clothes." He gripped her hand. "I'm okay. I can do this."

"It's just shopping, Mulder, we don't have to today."

"I want to." He looked out the window again. "But there sure are a lot of people here."

"Mulder." She put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer to her, so that she could whisper in his ear. "Mulder. I'm right with you. You're going to be safe here. You're safe with me. I promise."

"I know," he whispered. "I know. I'm okay. Let's do this." He tried to smile at her, and he threw open the door to the car.

Scully opened her car door and got out, and chirped the automatic lock. Mulder came around the car and took her hand, and held it very tight as they walked through the parking lot into the mall. They walked through the main doors and into a large court, and Mulder's breath sped up and his grip on her hand tightened even more. Scully said nothing, but watched him: his eyes were darting around, his face was pale and beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead.

This isn't going to work, she thought, and stopped walking.

"Mulder. Let's go. Let's go home."

"So many people," he said softly, and jerked his hand from hers and sank down onto his knees, covering his face with his hands.

All around them people stopped walking and started to gather. "Is he okay?" "Do you need some help, lady?" "Should we call security?" "Maybe it's a seizure."

"So many people," Mulder groaned, rocking back and forth on his knees. Scully knelt down beside him and put her arms around him.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," she whispered, and nearly sagged with relief when a mall cop moved through the gathering crowd and leaned down to talk to her.

"What's going on, ma'am?"

"My friend is a little unused to crowds. Could you—?" She nodded her head towards the people around them.

"Of course." He nodded and stood up, and started to disperse the crowd. "Move along, folks. Nothing to see here. Everything's okay. Move along."

"I'm sorry, Scully," Mulder whispered, and she gently removed his hand from his face and stroked his cheek.

"It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay. Let's get you home." She kissed his forehead and helped him stand, and they left the mall. She had to help him put his seatbelt on.

"I'm sorry, Scully," Mulder said over and over, and no amount of reassurance could convince him he shouldn't be.

======= Twelve =======

Ben arrived home soon after Mulder and Scully did. He looked around the kitchen, where Scully sat at the table with a cup of coffee in her hands, and he said, "Where's Mulder? What happened?"

"He had a panic attack at the mall. He's upstairs, resting." Scully lifted the cup, and put it down again without drinking. Her hands shook.

Ben stood there, fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt. He said, "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. No, I'm not. Oh, Benjie, I think I've made a terrible mistake."

"What do you mean?" He joined her at the table.

"I knew it was too soon for that sort of thing—I knew there would be too many people for him. I knew it and I took him anyway. I can't believe I was so thoughtless."

"Mom . . . you were trying to be practical. You didn't force him, either, he wanted to go."

"He went to please me."

"Is he upset with you?"

"Probably. He's upset. I'm sure I'm part—a large part—of the equation." Again she tried to drink but put the cup down quickly. Her hands would not cooperate at all.

"I don't know what to tell you," Ben said quietly.

"Well, it's my problem to deal with, anyway. Don't worry about it. Did you go running?" she said briskly.

"You're changing the subject."

"Yes, I am."

Ben traced a scratch on the table with his fingertip, and said, "Mom, I think I like a girl."

At this Scully smiled. "You think?"

"She's real pretty . . . but I'm starting to know her better and she's . . . I don't know . . . she's a good person."

"But," Scully prompted.

"She's popular."

"Why should that make a difference, if you like her and she likes you?"

"The last guy she dated is on the football team and the student council and his parents are loaded and an invitation to one of his keg&#8212;parties—"

"Keggers?"

"—is like being invited to the Oscars or something."

"He throws keggers?"

"Could you focus, please, Mom?"

"Sorry. Go on."

"That's it, really. I can't ask her to go out with me."

"I'm not sure I understand why not."

"What if she just likes me as a friend?"

"Would you rather know or do you want to keep wondering?"

"If I ask her out and she says no, everything between us is going to get weird, and I don't want that."

"Well . . . I think it's a risk worth taking. Maybe she does like you. Maybe you'll go out together and have a wonderful time. Maybe you'll have a terrible time. But you won't know until you ask." Her hands were finally steady enough to lift her coffee cup, but her coffee had gone cold. She sighed and rose from the table, and dumped the coffee into the sink. "I'm going to check on your father. And I think you should ask this girl out."

"Yeah," Ben said, non-committal, and he was still sitting at the table when she went upstairs.

Her heart ached for him, but he would hate for her to say so. Her sweet handsome boy . . . if this mysterious girl couldn't see past his shyness then she wasn't worth his time, no matter how pretty she might be.

But it would hurt him so to find out. First love, she thought wryly, is the really hard one. If you can survive first love you can survive anything.

Even True Love, she thought, and pushed open her bedroom door.

Mulder lay on his back, on top of the made bed. One arm was behind his head and the other hand lay on his chest. He looked skeletally thin as he lay there, in Ben's too-big clothes—even though Ben was on the waifish side himself, not yet filled out to a grown man's dimensions.

Mulder glanced at the door when Scully came in, and slowly sat up.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be. It's my fault. You're not ready for crowds. I knew that and I dragged you out anyway. I'm sorry." She stroked his face gently, and he leaned his head into her hand and closed his eyes.

"You and Ben . . . the two of you are easy. Alex was easy. Even Dr. Lucas . . . I could handle him. The nurses . . . they were fine. But as soon as I stepped inside that place . . . Scully, it was like . . . drowning."

"Oh, sweetheart . . ." Scully wrapped her arms around him and he lay his head on her shoulder and put his hands on her waist.

"Scully. Tell me a story."

She chuckled. "The Three Bears, Mulder?"

"Tell me about the day you found out you were pregnant."

"Oh, Mulder . . . you don't want to hear that story."

"Why not?"

"It's not a very happy one."

"It's not?" He lifted his head from her shoulder. "I though you were happy to have Ben."

"I was . . . oh, I'm going to have to tell you this story anyway, aren't I. All right. But let's get comfortable."

They moved further onto the bed and leaned back against the pillows at the head board. Scully smiled, thinking, We still fit. She said, "It took me a long time to figure it out. I was so worried about you, trying to find you and using every source I could, every liaison we had. I hardly slept, I hardly ate, and when I missed a period I thought it was stress. It never occurred to me I might be pregnant, it was so ingrained in me that I wouldn't it just wasn't a possibility. When I started throwing up in the morning I thought it was the flu. It was winter, it was a logical conclusion.

"I finally went to my OB/GYN soon after New Year's and said, I know I'm not supposed to be but I think I am, tell me if it's true. And it was."

Scully fell silent for a moment, remembering Dr. Talbot's kind face, how he'd smiled when they figured out she was a little more than two months along, how bewildered he was when she burst into tears. Un-Scullyish behavior in the extreme, but it was also un-Scullyish to be pregnant, wasn't it. Certainly not something one expected of her.

She said, "He said congratulations, but I didn't feel like celebrating. I got dressed, paid my bill, and drove to my mother's. I must have, though I don't remember it at all. I remember my mother opening the door, smiling to see me, and then taking me in her arms because I was crying so hard I couldn't stand upright. She held me for an hour or so. Rocked me. Comforted me, even though she didn't know what was wrong and I was crying so hard I couldn't tell her. When I finally could talk all I could say was 'He wanted it and now he's not here.'"

"I wanted it," he whispered, and his hand rested gently on her stomach.

"Finally I told her the whole story. That we were looking at rings, talking about June, a priest versus a rabbi or whether to have both, the whole thing. Including naming our children."

"Lily," Mulder whispered. "Lily and Benjamin. That's what we decided."

"Yes," Scully said absently, then looked at him sharply. "Mulder?"

"I think . . . is it a memory, Scully? I think it's a memory."

"Tell me."

"We lay on my bed, we were holding each other. We joked around. You said, Vixen, I said, Foxette. And after a while you were quiet and you said, If we have a girl I'd like to name her Lily. And I said, I've always liked the name Benjamin. And then . . ." he furrowed his forehead. "And then it gets fuzzy for a while. But we talked about how we could do it soon afterwards. Soon."

"And I imagined twins," Scully said quietly. "A boy and girl. Lily and Ben. It turned out to be just Ben, but that was just fine."

Mulder stroked her arm delicately, and said, "Do I remember it right? Is that how it happened?"

"Yes. I think so. I'm quite sure of it. I don't know if I remember it word for word, but it happened. It really happened."

"I'm glad," Mulder said. "I named Ben."

"I thought about some others. Jared. Daniel. Andrew. But in the end I couldn't name him anything else."

"When did you start to be happy about it?"

"Oh . . . I was happy about being pregnant. I was. I was delighted, I was so excited—I'd wanted this so much. I was just miserable that you weren't there to share it. Of course, at the time I never thought you'd be gone so long. I thought—" she chuckled softly at herself.

"Tell me."

"I daydreamed that you'd come bursting into the hospital while I was in labor, that you'd hold my hand and tell me you loved me, you'd missed me so much, you were so happy to be a father . . . and you'd be there when he was born, that you'd hold him in your arms and you'd cry with joy."

"I should have been there," Mulder said.

"Mulder, please. Please, sweetheart. It's no use getting angry at the past."

"Why not?" He pulled away from her. "I am angry. I should have been there. I should have held your hand in the doctor's office, we should have celebrated together, we should have picked out the clothes and the names and the furniture, we should have kissed the scraped knees and told the bedtime stories together . . . I am angry, Scully. I am."

"Mulder . . ." She sighed and reached out to take his hand, which he reluctantly gave. "But what good does it do? You can rage all you want, but in the end it won't change history, it won't change what you've been through. And for me, having you here now is enough. It's enough, Mulder. It's what I've longed for and now . . . I'm happy."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

He studied her, frowning, and then sighed and lay down, his head in her lap. "I feel cheated," he said.

She stroked his hair. "So do I." She closed her eyes and bent over him, and lay her cheek on his shoulder. "But I also feel like the worst is behind us."

"I hope you're right," Mulder said.

^*^*^*^*^*

Scully's back yard was small, and Mulder supposed another person would have let it be an afterthought: a patch of grass, some marigolds, a rosebush or two. But Scully had made it into a peaceful wonderland—climbing roses trailed from sixty-year-old oak trees, tulips and crocuses clustered around their trunks, and a rope swing hung from one and a simple tree house peeped from the branches of another.

Late in the afternoon Mulder went out to the backyard and looked around. He smelled the flowers and ran his hands over the bark of the trees, explored the small tool shed and looked under the tarp that covered the log pile. Everything smelled wonderful: loamy, cool, fresh. He had not forgotten about the seasons but it seemed to him they had been passing by without his acknowledgement. Every day had been like any other at Cove Point.

Although winter to him meant those terrible months he had wandered the streets, cold and hungry. He wasn't even sure which city he had been in, though he supposed it was in Virginia. He only knew he had been looking for something, someone, someone who had been so important he couldn't put off finding her any longer.

My angel, he thought, and smiled quietly to himself. My angel with a flaming sword.

But in the end she had found him. He supposed even if he had seen her and approached her on the street, she may not have recognized him. She may have been afraid of him as everyone else was, a thin dirty homeless man who begged for spare change with one breath and babbled about aliens and monsters in the next.

Though he had a feeling Scully wasn't afraid of much.

He sat down and pulled up his knees, and ran his hand over the grass. I'm lucky, he thought. I'm a very lucky man.

And how wonderful it was, to sit on the grass in the sunshine with a full belly on a sunny Sunday afternoon in spring. It was the kind of thing he really loved, like strawberries in cream or a soft blanket on a cold night. He had another feeling that he hadn't always been one to appreciate the simple things in life.

He liked this very much. The smell of earth and the velvet softness of the tulip petals. He lay on his back and looked up at the sky through the spreading tree branches. The sky was as blue as Scully's eyes, and scattered with cottonball clouds. Hello, sky, he thought, it's nice to see you again.

He had a sudden, intensely vivid vision of tree branches reaching—no, shooting towards him, their intentions murderous, their anger palpable—

He closed his eyes and counted slowly, trying to keep his breathing even. Not real, he thought, not real, not real, trees don't murder, they don't feel anger, not real, not real, not real.

At twenty-eight the vision disappeared.

He opened his eyes again, and the three branches waved innocently above him. Nonetheless he thought, It's time to go inside.

The back door opened directly to the kitchen, and Scully looked up from the cooking and smiled at him. "What do you think of the backyard?"

"I like it." He sat down at the kitchen table and said, "Scully. Did we ever—I know this is going to sound silly—did we ever run into—" he faltered. "No, it's stupid."

"Tell me."

"Killer trees," he said, and waited for her to laugh.

She didn't. She said slowly, "Well, we did have one case where you thought the trees were under someone's control, and they were trying to rid the area of some disturbed, abusive people. And you swore to me one of the trees tried to kill you."

"How?"

"You said it rammed some branches through your windshield."

He said, "I think—if it's real—I think I remember that."

"You do?" She put down the mixing spoon and sat across from him, and put her hands on top of his folded ones. "Tell me what you remember."

"I remember the trees. I remember thinking that they were angry with me. They wanted to stop me before I . . . what was I doing?'

"Two men had been killed. You were trying to prevent another murder."

"By the trees?"

"I'm not sure. A lot of cases that we dealt with were like that, Mulder, they were unbelievable to anyone who didn't go through them."

She went on stroking his hands. "Are you all right? Do you feel okay?"

"I'm okay. I'm tired. It's going to just be the three of us tonight, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. It seemed like tonight was a bad night for guests. Though there are a lot of people who want to meet you."

He nodded. "I know. Soon enough. Scully?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I'm glad I'm not crazy."

She smiled at him. "I am too." She leaned over the table to kiss him, and went back to the counter to finish cooking dinner.

^*^*^*^*^*^

"I don't see why you have to go back to work so soon," Mulder said as they were getting ready for bed that night.

"My substitute was only prepared for a few days, and it's been almost two weeks." Scully took a sip of water, rinsed it around her mouth, and spat it into the sink. "I can't put it off any longer."

Mulder carefully hung his own toothbrush in the rack and said, "You don't have to work, you know. I have money, a lot of it. Alex said so."

"That money was meant to take care of you. Who knows if it will still be there tomorrow."

"It will be." He followed her out of the bathroom and got into bed, pulling the blankets up to his waist. "It is mine."

"Mulder." She sat down on the bed and leaned her arms on his blanket-covered knees. "I don't know who gave you that money, and I don't know if it's meant to cover the rest of your life or just while Alex was taking care of you. Either way I'd hate to plan on that money being available to us and then waking up one morning and finding that it's not."

"Then take it out of the account it's in and put it in yours. Or one for Ben—or even one for me. It will be all right, Scully. It is mine.It was meant to take care of me and that means taking care of my family, too."

"Well," Scully said pensively, "it would be nice to have all the money for Ben's college, wherever he finally decides to go."

"Ben's going to college? When?"

"Oh, not for another year. He's just a junior. He's sent for information at a few places but he hasn't decided where he wants to go yet."

"But he'll be going away."

"Probably. He's looking at everything from UC Santa Cruz to Bennington in Vermont. I think he could go to Harvard or Princeton with his grades, but he doesn't want to go Ivy League."

"Oh," Mulder said. "Do you have summer vacation soon?"

"Ben's school is year-round. He has six weeks in June and July off, then six weeks of school, then two weeks off, et cetera, until Christmas when they have an entire month off. I usually take my vacation in July and we go on a trip, but we haven't made any plans for this summer. I think he's thinking about getting a job."

"If he doesn't, do you still want to go on a trip?"

"Yeah. It's always nice to get away." She squeezed his knees through the blankets, and got up to turn out the light. In the dark, she got into bed and snuggled up to his side. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care. Anywhere. Where did I like best?'

"Oh . . . Graceland."

"Graceland?"

"Elvis's mansion in Memphis. I think that was your favorite place. Would you like to go to Graceland?"

"Let's think about it." Graceland. He liked the sound of the name.He closed his arms, holding her to him with one arm. Her hand slowly stroked his chest, and she sighed. "Scully. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm sleepy."

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, are you?"

"Yes." He put his hand on top of hers, then brought it to his mouth and kissed it. Her fingers clenched his hand for a moment, and then her hand lay, docile, under his on his chest. It took a long time for her to fall asleep, and longer still for Mulder to follow.

========= Thirteen =========

Monday afternoon was so fine and springlike that Emma suggested they have their tutoring session outside. She and Ben went out to the grass in front of the school and sat beneath a cluster of elm trees, and when they had finished talking about his calculus lesson and her English assignment they sat quietly for a while, enjoying the sunshine. Ben had brought his guitar to school, as usual, and he took it out of its case and began to play.

"That's pretty," Emma said. "What is it called?"

"No title yet. It's just something that's been in my head the last couple days."

"Is it going to be a song about your family?"

Ben laughed shortly. "I doubt it."

"I just thought—with everything that's been happening—"

"A song about my family wouldn't make any sense."

Emma listened to him play for a few minutes more, then said, "Are you ever going to tell me what's going on?"

Ben stopped playing and rubbed the calluses on the tips of his fingers with his thumb. "It wouldn't make any sense," he said again, quietly.

Emma didn't say anything—she just picked up her book bag and vaulted herself to her feet, and started to rapidly walk away.

Ben watched her go a moment, then gather up his own things and started to run after her. "Emma," he said. "Emma!"

She whirled to face him. "Why do you hate me?" she demanded. "What did I do to make you hate me?"

Ben stared at her dumbfounded, cradling his guitar like an ungainly baby. "I—I don't hate you."

"Then why do you treat me like this? Like I'm stupid—like I'm inconsequential—like my feelings don't matter!"

"You know I talk to you more than I talk to just about anybody. I don't know what you expect me to do—pour my heart out to you just because you ask? It doesn't work that way, Emma, I don't know why you think it should."

"If we're really friends I shouldn't have to ask."

Ben sighed and hugged his guitar closer. "You want us to be friends?"

"I thought we were already," she whispered painfully. "Am I wrong?"

"Look . . . I like you. I do. It's just—I'm who I am and you're who you are—it wouldn't work."

Emma wiped her eyes with her fingers and said, "I don't understand. You're just Ben and I'm just Emma. What else matters?"

"Easy for you to say," Ben said, wondering if he did dislike her, just a little, for her poise and her beauty and her assurance of her place in the world. "You know, it's a lot easier for a queen to cross class barriers than it is for a peasant."

"What are you talking about?" Emma said, and then, "Oh. Metaphors. You want to know something, Ben Scully? You carry yourself with this tortured-soul mystique but the truth is there are many people out there in as much pain as you are, and more. And people like you a lot more than you like to admit. You're not half the mysterious loner you think you are."

Ben hugged his guitar closer and lowered his eyes. "You think all I am is a pose? I just want to be left alone."

"Which explains why you carry a guitar around and make a point of looking tortured and tragic."

"Look," he said, "when you've been bothered as much as I have by idiots who just like to hear themselves talk you'd want to be left alone too."

"That punk thing you did last year was just a cry for attention."

"You haven't lived my life, don't you judge me, okay? You don't know me. You don't know who I am."

"Yes," Emma said. "And if you keep acting like this, nobody else will, either."

"There are worse things that being lonely."

"Name one."

That stopped Ben cold. He'd often though there were worse things than being lonely but he'd never bothered to list them, even to himself. And now he could only think of one.

"Being dead," he said, and Emma snorted.

"For a smart guy you can be incredibly dense. Incredibly." She started to walk away from him again, then stopped and turned. "If you're still mad at me for that thing with Patrick Doonan when we were six then—then you're still a child, Ben. Do you want me to apologize? Fine. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't do anything. I know I should have. I wish I had. But I bet you've never noticed that Patrick Doonan hasn't bothered you since."

"Well . . . not as obviously," Ben muttered.

Emma shut her eyes for a moment, opened them, and said, "You fucker." She started walking towards the parking lot.

Ben took a deep breath and ran after her. "Emma. Emma!" She stopped and looked at him, her face unreadable. "Emma. My father disappeared before I was born and I just met him Saturday and now he's home with us and he was hurt—hurt bad—and it's really hard, Emma. I don't know what to say to him or talk about or anything. And in a couple days his old friends are coming to meet him and they're going to expect everything to be like it used to be—they're going to expect him to be just like he used to be—and it's not going to be anything like how it used to be. And they're going to be disappointed and my dad is—he's so fragile."

Emma's face had softened with each word, and when he stopped she put her hand on his arm. "How is your mom?"

"My mom is fine. My mom can handle anything."

"How are you?" she whispered.

His lips trembled and he finally released the guitar, to hold it by the neck with one hand. He said, "I'm okay," and began to cry.

Emma was nearly his height, so there was no awkward repositioning when she put her arms around him and gently pulled his head to her shoulder. He just held her and cried.

^*^*^*^*^*

Scully was reading the paper at the kitchen table when Ben finally came in, and she said, trying to not sound too reproving, "You're late."

"Sorry. I was talking to somebody."

"Who?"

"Oh . . . Emma. Emma Hicks." He started rummaging in the pantry, and said, "My calculus tutor."

"And how is that going, by the way?"

"It's going okay. Mom . . . she's the girl. The girl I told you about yesterday."

Here Scully smiled. "I see. So that part of it is going okay too?"

"I think so. Yeah. It's going okay."

"Good."

"Where's Mulder?" I hope he wasn't too bored today, with neither of us home."

"When I came home all the photo albums were out, so no, I don't think he was bored. He's asleep right now—or he was when I looked."

Scully chuckled a little. "He used to never sleep. Hardly ever."

"Maybe it's his way of withdrawing from the drugs they had him on."

"I guess I should be glad it's no worse, then."

"He is going okay, isn't he? Physically?"

"Physically he needs to put on more weight, but he sleeps easily and—um—everything else seems to be functioning normally. Physically he's all right." She sighed. "Mentally . . . only time will tell."

"Thank you for not getting too graphic."

"You're welcome." There wasn't much to get graphic about. Mulder's bodily functions were normal and regular, as far as she could tell, for someone with his small appetite. He complained of no pains or aches—in fact he complained of nothing at all. He ate what was put before him, slept when he lay down, wore what she suggested. It was as if he was not concerned about his body, answering its needs only as an afterthought.

It would have worried her, but his mind was so alert and curious she thought perhaps his absent-minded professor tendencies had finally won out. There was precedence, after all, of Mulder forgetting to eat and wearing the same clothes for days at a time. For now it was enough that he was aware of his surroundings, that he displayed none of the symptoms of the schizophrenia Lucas had been so insistent on, and that someday he might even want to have sex with her again.

Scully closed her eyes, then opened them to watch Ben slather peanut butter on crackers. He'd poured himself a glass of milk and already had a milk moustache. She said, "I'm beat and we need to go grocery shopping. Let's do pizza for dinner."

Ben drank his milk quickly and said, "I'll never say no to that."

"Will you order it? Two mediums and a bottle of soda should do us."

"All right. What does Mulder like?"

"Pepperoni," Scully said automatically, and Ben smiled. "Well, some things you never forget," she said as she folded the newspaper and rose from the table. "Will you let me know when it arrives?"

"Sure." He popped another peanut butter-covered cracker into his mouth.

Scully went upstairs to her room. Mulder was still asleep, lying on his side and his head cradled on his arm. She had always loved to watch him sleep, even long before they were lovers. When he slept all his fears and troubled receded for a while, he was serene and more beautiful than ever.

And he was beautiful now, even with his close-cropped gray hair and his face so thin his skin stretched taut over his cheekbones. She watched him for a few moments more, then changed her works clothes for leggings and a tee shirt and sat down on the bed. She eased herself closer to him, snuggled herself up to his body and lay her head against his chest.

"What a nice way to wake up," Mulder murmured.

"You're awake. Hi."

"Hi. Did you have a good day at work?" His hand worked around her waist and came to rest gently on her stomach.

"It was okay. Everyone's always punchy at the end of a quarter."

He stroked her stomach and said, "What do you do, again?"

She chuckled. "I teach pathology—autopsies—at the FBI Academy."

"Why people die," he said softly.

"How they die. Why they die was your job."

"Hm."

"What did you do today?"

"I looked at your photo albums. You have a lot of pictures of Ben."

"It's an only child thing, I think."

"And I watched a little TV."

"Ah . . . a full day of high-quality programming . . ."

"I found a really good movie channel. I watched the end of something in black and white and the beginning of something in color, and then I fell asleep."

"You had an exciting day."

"It was like yours. It was okay. Are you tired, Scully?"

"Yes," she murmured. "I'm tired."

"Can I make dinner?"

"Oh . . . I had Ben order pizza. We're low on everything and I just didn't feel like cooking. If I'd known you wanted to . . ."

"Oh. It's okay. Maybe some other time?"

"Sure . . . "

"Was I a good cook, Scully?"

"Not really. You could boil pasta with the best of them, though."

Her eyes had already drifted closed. She thought she might fall asleep herself in a moment more. "How about if you make a salad for us tonight."

"All right." One hand was still stroking her stomach, and the other moved up to rub the back of her neck. "You're all tight right here."

"Tension."

"Would you like me to rub your shoulders?"

"Mm . . . yes . . ."

His hands gripped her shoulders and began to rub, gently, as knowing as they'd ever been.  Ohh . . . she'd missed his hands. She sighed in contentment. "Mm, Mulder, that's so good."

"Is it?"

"Oh, yes . . ."

"Do you like it when I rub your tummy?"

"Yes."

He moved one hand down again to her stomach and began to rub it slowly in a slow, wide circle. She said sleepily, "When Benjie was a baby I'd do this when he had a tummyache."

"I bet it helped a lot."

"I think it did."

He pressed a kiss to her ear and whispered, "I missed you so much today."

"I missed you too." She stroked his arm that lay over her belly.

"Did you go to the bank today?"

"What? Oh, no. I don't know, Mulder, the thought of that money makes me uncomfortable. Who knows where it's from."

"Then we should use it for something worthwhile. Like sending Ben to college. Like doing something you've always wanted to do."

She smiled. "The only thing I've always wanted to do is have you home again."

His hands paused, and he clasped her to him and kissed the side of her neck. "Scully—I—there's something I want to ask you."

"Yes, Mulder?"

"Are you honestly, really glad to have me here? Even though I'm . . . different?"

"Mulder . . ."

"I'd always hear people say, He used to be brilliant. He used to be such a genius."

She turned over to look him in the eyes, and he held her hand to his chest. "You're you, Mulder. You're you. That's all that matters to me. You're still my sweet Mulder. And yes, I am really, honestly glad to have you here."

He studied her face, and touched her cheek with his fingertips.

"You're so pretty," he said, and Scully smiled.

"Thank you."

Mulder rubbed his hands over her back. He said softly, "Scully . . . I've missed you so much today. I hate it when you leave me."

"I know. I hate leaving you. But I like my work, Mulder. And I always come home."

"Will you always come back to me?"

"Yes."

"Will you always find me when I'm lost?"

"Oh, yes, Mulder. Always."

She was trembling, and Mulder whispered, "What is it? Are you cold?" as he rubbed her back.

"No," she murmured, "I'm not cold." She ran her hand through his hair and cupped the back of his head. His skin was cool and smooth, and he watched her through lowered eyelids.

"Scully," he whispered, and she moaned because his voice, oh, his voice, whenever he said her name in that voice . . .

"Mulder," she answered, and kissed him with an open mouth.

He gasped and his hands gripped her waist. For a moment she thought he was going to push her away, but he only held her and he kissed her. He kissed her slowly at first, uncertainly, and then with growing confidence.

For all the tender kisses they had given each other over the past few days, Scully felt this was the first true one, the first kiss from the Mulder she remembered. She spread her knees to rest her weight on them, and held his head between her hands and started kissing his face. She kissed his eyes and his nose and his sweet beloved lips, and he moaned softly and moved his hands upwards, to just below her breasts.

"Scully—I—"

"What, Mulder?" His ears tasted like soap. She sucked on his earlobe and he moaned again.

"Is this okay? Are you sure this is okay?"

She smiled at him. "Oh, Mulder . . . this is okay. This is incredibly okay." She smoothed his hair down at his forehead and kissed along his hairline. "Is it okay with you?"

Here he smiled, and squeezed her sides lightly. "Oh, I think so." He ran his fingers under her chin and brought her mouth to his again.

They heard the doorbell ring from downstairs, and they both froze.

"The pizza," Scully said.

"Dinner."

"Ben will be expecting us—oh, God, Mulder, I've never had sex with Ben in the house, maybe we should go somewhere—"

They heard Ben bound up the stairs and he knocked on the bedroom door. "Mom? Mulder? Pizza's here."

"We'll be right there," Scully called, and looked down at Mulder with soft exasperation.

"I'll meet you back here later," Mulder said, and Scully laughed and kissed the tip of his nose.

"Come on, let's eat."

They rose from the bed and went down to the kitchen. He held her hand as they went down the stairs.

========= Fourteen =========

There are few meals quite as fundamentally right as fresh pizza and cold root beer. They ate the first few slices in reverential silence, broken only by requests for napkins. Mulder ate with his eyes closed in pepperoni-induced ecstasy—he had exclaimed, "Oh! My favorite!"when they opened the box to the first pizza, which made Scully and Ben smile. He was less enthused over the vegetable pizza that was their other choice, but he ate a slice and decided it wasn't bad.

Once the first edge of hunger was taken care of, Scully leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. "As nice as it would be to live only on pizza, we really need to go grocery shopping," she said. "I could go tomorrow after work . . ."

"I'll go tonight, if you want," Ben said. "I could take the bank card."

"Oh, would you, Benjie? That would be perfect. Of course it means we have to make up a list."

"What," Ben said, "you don't like it when I improvise?"

"Every time you improvise you end up spending too much," Scully said firmly. "We're making a list and I want you to try to stick to it, please."

"I always stick to it."

"One carton of ice cream, Ben. No more."

"Right, right."

"I'll go with him," Mulder said, and they both looked at him, startled.

"Are you sure, sweetheart? The supermarket is usually pretty busy, even at this time of night."

"Please," Mulder said. "I want to."

Scully tapped her fingers on he glass a moment, then said, "Maybe I should go with you."

"I'll be fine," Mulder said.

"I can take care of him, if anything happens," Ben said.

"But nothing's going to happen. I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll be fine."

"All right," Scully said after thinking it over a moment more. "But I want you to come home the instant you start to feel uncomfortable, all right? The instant."

"The instant," Mulder echoed, and she smiled at him at last.

"All right. I'll make up the list while you two clean up."

"Suckered into it," Ben said, smiling, and ate another piece of pizza in just a few bites before standing and taking his plate and glass to the sink.

Mulder was very careful as he helped with the dishes. When he'd lived in the group home he broke a plate a week, it seemed to him, and though he hadn't broken any of Scully's dishes yet he didn't want to start. Ben put the leftovers away, offering suggestions to Scully about the grocery list, and when the kitchen was clean Scully gave him the list, the car keys and the bank card. "Come home if anything happens," she said to him again. "Anything."

"I know, Mom. We'll be okay."

She kissed Mulder and whispered to him, "I love you," and stood in the garage doorway as the car pulled out. She didn't close it until they'd pulled out in the street.

Ben drove like Scully, fast and precise. He turned on the radio and then turned it off again. "You can choose," he said.

"Whatever you like. I don't know any stations."

"Right." Ben turned the radio on again. The music was loud and discordant, and Mulder wondered if it was what was popular now or Ben had chosen it to see his reaction. Whatever his reason, after just a few minutes Ben changed the station to something softer and relaxed a little, leaning back in his seat.

When they got to the grocery store the parking lot was about a quarter full, and Ben looked at Mulder for a moment after he turned off the car. "You sure you're going to be okay?"

Mulder nodded and said, "Yes. I'm sure. I can do this."

"Okay." He got out of the car and Mulder followed.

The fluorescent lights were unnaturally bright, and Mulder paused in the entry. He wanted to take Ben's hand but he didn't think Ben would care for that. Ben was already ahead of him, pulling a cart from the queue and starting towards one side of the store. He knows his way around, Mulder thought, he's been here a hundred times. He took a deep breath and followed to where Ben was waiting for him.

"Hanging on?" Ben said.

"I'm fine." Ben had a quick, long stride, that Mulder kept up with easily. He had thick, dark brown hair that he wore long from the top and short at the sides, and his eyes looked gray in this light. He was tall. His hands and feet were big, and his waist was slender.

This is my son, Mulder thought. This boy—this man—is here because of me. He took another deep breath and straightened his shoulders, and Ben glanced at him and smiled uncomfortably for a moment.

"All right?"

"All right. What are we looking for?"

"Mom's ice cream. She always says to only get half a gallon and then we eat it in three days and it's like, what's the point? Let's get a whole gallon and at least it will last all week."

"Maybe we should get a whole gallon."

"Well, that's what I keep telling her." He stopped in front of a freezer door and opened it, and pulled out two cartons. "And I like the premium stuff and she tells me it's too expensive, but when we get the house brands it's nasty and it just sits in the freezer."

"So it lasts longer than a week."

Ben hesitated, then shrugged as they continued down the aisle.

"Well, we eat it eventually with lots of chocolate sauce. Mom likes chocolate."

"Yes," Mulder murmured, unsurprised. Scully liked chocolate . . . he'd known that.

"Or we foist it off on the guys—Mom's friends—they'll eat anything.Mom likes feeding them. She worries about them, three old bachelors . . ."

"They were my friends too, weren't they?"

"Yeah," Ben said. "I guess they were."

"I hope I get to meet your friends sometime, Ben."

"Oh. Yeah. Sure. I don't see why not." Ben didn't say anything for a while, plucking groceries off the shelves without glancing at the list, then he said abruptly, "I was talking to a friend this afternoon. A girl. I haven't had many friends who were girls." He turned over a box of instant rice in his hands, and said, "I haven't had many friends, period."

"Why?" Mulder said, and Ben looked up at him.

"I don't know. Some people are just really hard to talk to, I guess."

"That shouldn't stop you."

"No, I mean . . . I think I'm hard to talk to. And I never realized it before today. Mom and I, we've talked about this, kind of, that neither of us let people in easily. She says it's something I have to work on. But today I was talking to this girl and  . . . " He stopped and laughed to himself. "Never mind. I'm boring you."

"It's your life, Ben, I'm interested. I want to know about you."

That got a smile, and Ben said, "I was talking to this girl and she said a lot of people she knows want to know me better, but I'm so—stand-offish, is what she said—that a lot of them are afraid to approach me. That I'll get really offended or something."

"Do you? Get offended?"

He shrugged, stooping over the shopping cart as he guided it down the aisle. "It depends. There are a lot of jerks at my school, and they hang out with kids that may be perfectly nice, but it's hard to tell. I can't always tell when someone is being sincere or when they're just going to laugh at me with their friends, so I just stay away from them all."

"What about the girl you were talking to? What's her name?"

"Emma. Her name is Emma." He sighed. "She runs with the jerk pack."

"But you like her."

"I do. And she likes me. And she likes her friends. And maybe they're not the terrible people I've always thought they were." He stopped and looked up at Mulder. "Two drastic life changes in three days."

"I hope I'm not making your life more difficult," Mulder said seriously.

Ben shook his head. "I'm not sure what I should call you, though. 'Dad' feels weird."

"'Mulder' works."

"I think Mom wants me to call you Dad."

"You call me whatever you're comfortable calling me."

Ben said, after a moment, "I wish I could ask you things nobody else knows about you. Like, what you were like when you were my age, and stuff like that. I mean, Mom didn't know you and your family's gone and Aunt Samantha doesn't know and she and Mom don't speak anyway—"

"Aunt Samantha?"

"Yeah. Your sister. I guess you forgot about her, too."

"Samantha," Mulder repeated softly. There was a feeling to that name, one of rage and grief and final resignation, but no specific memories. "My sister."

"Yeah. I don't even know if she knows you're back. Like I said, she and Mom don't speak. When Grandma Teena died they gave up on any pretension of getting along. I don't know what happened between them, though I think it was from fighting about you."

"My sister," Mulder repeated softly. "And that's all my family?"

"That's all, I think. My grandparents died a long time ago and you didn't have any other brothers and sisters. I think there's extended family but they've never kept touch with us, either. Then there's Mom's family, of course, but she doesn't talk to them often except Grandma Maggie. Mom's . . . private."  Ben said after a moment, "You know, it's weird what you remember and what you don't. I'd think you'd remember your sister more than Mom but it's like all you remember is Mom."

"Well . . ." Mulder said, and shrugged himself because he didn't have an explanation for it either. "She is who she is, you know?"

"Yeah," Ben said. "I know."

^*^*^*^*^*

Scully met them at the garage door when they returned home, obviously relieved that the trip had gone without incident. Ben went up to his room as soon as the groceries were put away, though it was still early, and Mulder fiddled with the soup cans in the pantry for a few minutes, stacking them and turning their labels to the front, and wondering what to do until bedtime.

He'd been trying all evening not to think about kissing Scully, but it was so hard not to. She had such a pretty mouth. Her lips were so full and soft, and when she pressed them against his it made him feel warmed and brave and wonderful. Her hands on his body were like a healing balm.

I want to touch her, he thought, and sighed heavily. She might welcome it—she might even like it—but how do you ask?

"Mulder?" Her voice was soft. "Are you done in here?"

"Oh. Yeah."  He left the pantry and turned off the light, and put his hands on Scully's shoulders and kissed her forehead. "I hope you're not too angry about the ice cream."

"I'm not angry. We eat too much of it, though." She slid her hands up his arms to his elbows. "Mulder. We need to talk a little, I think."

"I'd rather kiss you."

Scully smiled and said softly, "Some things never change. But this is important."

"More important than kissing you?" He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead again, and then her nose.

"Mulder. I'm worried about your heart."

He looked down at his chest, then up at her, frowning. "Why?"

"There's a condition caused by excessive weight loss, and I'm afraid that right now your heart may not be up to the strain." She bit her lower lip for a moment, then said, "I think it might be wiser to wait until you're healthier. Sex is strenuous. I'd hate for something like this to hurt you."

"Oh," he said softly, then removed his hands from her shoulders. "Maybe I should sleep in the guest room, too."

"No, no, Mulder—" She sighed. "This is exactly what I don't want you to think. I want you to sleep with me. I want to be close to you and I do—oh, God, I do want to make love to you. But only when I'm sure you're healthy enough for it."

Mulder studied her face for a moment, then caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Scully drew in her breath and closed her eyes. "I think," he said slowly, "that you should let me be the judge of that."

"Mulder . . ." She smiled, her eyes still closed. "You always were the worst patient alive."

"I feel fine," Mulder said. "I don't get winded going up the stairs. I kept up with Ben the whole time we were at the store, and he walks fast. Here." He took her limp hand and pressed it to his chest. "Can you feel it?"

She spread her fingers so that her palm rested over his heart. "I feel it."

"How does it feel to you?"

"Strong," she whispered. "It feels strong." She added, after a moment of feeling his heart beat and his hand gently stroking her arm, "And fast. And steady."

Mulder let his fingers glide up her arm and rested his hand on top of hers on his chest. "I want to touch you," he said. "I want to touch you and kiss you and—and everything you want me to do, I want to do it." She made a soft sound in her throat. "But Scully—this is kind of embarrassing—"

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

"I know I'm not a virgin but I feel like one. I'm not sure I know how to make love to you."

"Do you remember anything about it?"

"I remember feelings. Moments. I remember loving you so much it filled my body like—like a breath of air when you've been holding it—" At this she closed her eyes again and swayed closer to him. "But I don't remember specific actions or anything like that."

"Mm," she said softly. "Well. It will be like the first time all over again, won't it."

"Will you show me, Scully? Will you show me how to make love to you?"

"Yes. Yes. Of course I will. There is my other worry, though."

"What's that?"

"I don't want Benjie to hear us."

"His room is at the other end of the house."

"But I can be loud," Scully said, a blush rising in her cheeks."You'll have to help me with that."

"Maybe we should stay down here," Mulder said softly.

She smiled and looked up at him. "I know. The study. That green couch in there, that was yours." She took both his hands in hers and started pulling him towards her study. "Ben may have been conceived on that couch, though of course it's hard to pinpoint something like that in our circumstances."

"I wish I could remember, Scully. I wish I could remember it with you."

"It's all right, Mulder," she whispered, closing the study door with her foot and drawing him to her. "I remember enough for the both of us. And just think about all those new memories you'll have."

Mulder sank onto the couch and pulled her onto his lap, and she straddled his body on her knees. "Yes," he said quietly. "Show me, Scully."

Her eyes were dilated so they looked almost completely black, and she cupped his head in her hands and smoothed his hair. "Where do you want to touch me, Mulder?"

"Everywhere." He swallowed hard and placed his hands gently on her thighs. "Where do I start?"

She was smiling tenderly, and took his hands and kissed them. "At the top. Move downward. Use your hands. Use your mouth. And when it gets to that point, Mulder, I think you'll know what to do."

Mulder put his hands on her face and eased his fingers into her hair. He traced her skull, her ears, her cheekbones; he ran his fingers along her jaw and her chin and her nose; he passed his fingers over her lips and they opened and her tongue darted out and licked his fingers and sucked them into her mouth. She began to move against him, her hips grinding against him slowly and easily, and Mulder began to grind up in response, each touch sending a delicious thrill throughout his body. Scully bent to kiss him, holding his head and stroking his neck, and when she undid the first few buttons on his shirt he stopped moving entirely and clasped her around her waist.

"Is something wrong?" Scully whispered.

"No. No. Scully—I feel so strange—"

At once she pressed one hand to his forehead and the other to the pulse point at his throat, and he smiled. "Good strange," he said, and she relaxed a little.

"I'm still worried."

"Don't be. I feel happy—and—and—"

"Yes," she murmured, kissing him again.

"—and loved—so loved, Scully—"

"Yes, Mulder. Always loved."

"I love you, you know," he said.

"I know."

He took hold of the hem of her t-shirt and looked up at her, and she nodded slightly and lifted her arms. He brought the shirt up her body and over her head, and they both sighed as he reverently cupped his hands around her breasts.

"Is this all right?"

"Yes. Yes." Scully unhooked her bra herself and Mulder eased it off, and she smiled at his soft, "Oh, my." He glanced up at her face again, which was flushed and pink and her eyes were closed, and decided not to ask but just to do. He pulled her closer and captured one dark pink nipple between his lips, and Scully gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his hair. "That's good, Mulder," she whispered between kisses. "That's so good."

He ran his hands over her back and her sides as he sucked on her breast, felt her shoulder blades and her smooth stomach and her round hips. When she moaned he stopped for a moment, sure he'd hurt her, but she was smiling and she whispered, "Don't stop," so he continued.

And if she liked it at one breast she must like it at the other—and that moan must be a good sound, yes, she liked it—and oh, the way her hips were grinding against his, that felt so good too—

Abruptly she pushed his head away from her chest and Mulder looked up at her. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. No." She was breathing so quickly, and her hands were shaking as she went to work on his shirt. "It's your turn." She opened his shirt and pulled it off impatiently, and she scooted down his body and closed her mouth over his nipple. Mulder gasped and stroked her hair, watching her bright head as it moved over his chest. His body felt weightless, infinite, as if she were trying to pull him together with her kisses.

She kissed his neck and his chest, sliding down his body until she knelt on the floor. Her hands were shaking as she undid the buttons on his jeans, and Mulder took her hands and kissed them. He said nothing, however, and after a moment Scully carefully stood, still holding onto his hands.

"What is it?" she whispered. "Are you all right?"

"I just want to look at you a minute." Amber light shone through the shades from the street lamps, casting stained-glass patches on her skin. Her hair was coppery, and her lips were plump and wet. "You're beautiful." He slid his hands from her hips past her narrow waist and up her sides, to rest just below her breasts. "You're perfect." He pulled her a little and she stepped towards him, watching him through half-closed eyes. "I just want to—I don't know, Scully—gobble you up." She laughed at that and put her hands on his shoulders. "But first I want to look at you more," he said, and slipped his hands into the waistband of her pants. She moved enough to let him slide her pants and underwear down to the floor, and watched his face as he looked on her naked body.

Mulder honestly did not remember what she had looked like before, but he was certain she had been this beautiful, this round and soft and inviting. It was a body that cried out to be touched, caressed, tasted, pleasured. It was his turn to kneel and he ran his hands and then his mouth up her leg and down the other, over her belly, even—and he had to close his eyes for a moment—over the round cheeks of her ass. Scully was not silent, she whimpered and moaned and whispered his name, touching his face and his hair and his shoulders.

"Poetry," he said softly.

"Tell me."

He closed his eyes again—it was a memory, if he reached out for it he could grab hold of it, tight—and whispered, "I looked at you—you'd just taken a bath, you were drying off—and I recited something, some poem about a woman getting out of the bath and you laughed and called me—what did you call me? A hopeless romantic. And I said, 'Hopeful.Not hopeless.'"

"It was D. H. Lawrence, I think. I finally found the poem a few years ago. I have it in a book, copied out."

"You loved me," Mulder whispered, and pressed his face against her stomach. "You loved me so much and I could see it in your eyes whenever you looked at me. You didn't hide it in front of other people, you let it show. And I loved you for it."

"I loved you," she said softly. "I still love you. I love you so much." She sat down on the couch and then lay down on it, and Mulder joined her and started kissing her again, tenderly and slowly. She raised her knees so he could lie more easily between her legs, and as he kissed her skin she began to rub her hips against him again, quietly insistent.

"You taste like honey," he whispered, and she moaned. She grabbed his hand and took his forefinger into her mouth, and sucked on it, swirling her tongue around it from base to tip. Mulder's eyes widened and he moaned, surprised at the sound and at the tremor that went through him. He knew his body was responding to her, turning what had been a shameful and solitary activity of the last few years into something wonderful, something beautiful, something that was meant to be shared and experienced together.

Scully took his still-wet finger and parted her legs, and eased his fingers carefully inside her, where she was slick and tight. "There," she whispered, her breathing fast and sharp, "that's where you want to be, Mulder, that's where I want you."

"Here," he whispered, and started moving his hand, watching in fascination as her head lolled back and forth on the sofa cushion. Her skin was flushed pink all over, radiating heat. It was the most beautiful thing Mulder had ever seen, as she writhed and bucked and cried out to him.

When her body finally came to rest and she opened her eyes, Mulder ran his thumb over her lips and said, "That was pretty good?"

"It was good. I think you remember. You just don't know it."

"I've done that before?"

"Oh, yes. Something very like it."

He pulled his fingers from her and sniffed them, and smiled at the scent and put them in his mouth. "Mmmm."

"Mulder . . ."

"You taste sweet, Scully. And salty. And . . . mmm . . . warm . . ."

"Mulder." She sat up carefully and moved over to straddle him again.

"I want you. I want you to fuck me, Mulder."

"If Ben said that—"

"Ben had better not be even thinking about fucking," Scully growled, tugging on his jeans. "Lift up, Mulder." He lifted his hips as she said and she pulled down his jeans, and reached through the opening in his boxer shorts to uncover his penis. It was hard and engorged, and he looked at her face, biting his lip, expecting her to be repulsed.

She was smiling. "Ohhh, Mmmmulder . . ." She looked into his eyes. "I remember this."

"So it's all right?"

"It's beautiful." Her hand closed gently around the head and he gasped and closed his eyes. Her hand pumped him slowly, and she kissed his mouth and his face. "I want it inside me, Mulder. I want you inside me."

He grasped her hips and spread his legs to open hers further, and whispered, "Now?"

"Now." She raised herself and wrapped her arms around his neck, and lowered her body onto him.

"Oh. Oh, God. Oh, my God."

"Mmm."

"Scully."

"Mmm."

"Scully. God. Scully."

"Tell me. Tell me."

"Wet. So . . . mmm . . .hot. And—and—tight—so tight—"

"Yes, Mulder."

"Don't ever—want—to leave—"

She cried out again, shivering beneath his hands, and kissed his face with open lips. Her breath was warm and her lips were wet, and her tongue snaked out to lick his face. "Love you," she said in a low voice. "Love you inside me. Missed you—missed you so much, Mulder, missed you so much I couldn't bear it sometimes, I'd lie in my bed and cry for you, wanting your hands, your mouth, to hear your voice—" Her voice broke and she buried her face in his shoulder, and he felt wetness from her tears.

"Shh, shh," he whispered, "shh. I've got you. I'm here. I love you."

Scully lifted her head and looked into his eyes, and said, her voice still low, "I know." She kissed him, keeping her eyes open, and he watched her watch him. They kissed, watching each other, and their bodies moved together as if they had never been apart.

"Mulder!" Her mouth left his, and she grabbed his face and stared into his eyes, holding his gaze until she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. Her face scrunched up and her neck arched, and she gave a cry that sounded like either bloody murder or utmost joy, and Mulder died.

It took a minute or too for him to realize this was not actual death, just a close replica, and that Scully was kissing him and cooing sweet wordless noises to him. He stroked her back and tried to think of something to say, something loving and wise and wonderful, and gave up and kissed her.

Eventually Scully moved off him and got dressed again, and Mulder reluctantly followed her example. "Is it wrong of me to want to do that again?"

She smiled and smoothed down his hair. "No. You should probably pace yourself, though."

"So later tonight is out of the question."

"No . . . we'll see. Hey, Mulder."

"Uh-huh?"

"You really don't remember having sex? You don't remember making love to me before?"

He shook his head. "No. I wish I did."

"Maybe it's just me," she said softly, and put her arm around his waist. "I'm sleepy. Let's go to bed."

"No argument there," Mulder said, and turned off the study overhead light as they went out the door.

======== Fifteen ========

Tuesday morning, and Ben approached school with more than his usual amount of trepidation. It was one thing to talk for hours after school with a girl—it was quite another to talk with her for a few minutes in front of her friends.

They hadn't made any real plans to meet, but Emma had said, "I'll see you tomorrow before class, okay?" and he'd said, "Okay." So should he go look for her, the usual place where she talked with her friends? Or would she look for him? What if he went to the landing, and she went to the benches under the oak, and they missed each other completely?

He went to his locker, and there Emma was, looking pretty and fresh and hiphugger jeans and a daisy-yellow t-shirt. She grinned at him. "Hey, Ben."

"Hey." He grinned back. "How come you always beat me here?"

"I come early to get a good parking place, and do homework in the library until people start to show up. You walk, don't you?"

"Yeah. We've only got the one car."

She stepped closer to him and said softly, her eyes searching his face, "How are your folks? Are they doing okay?"

"They're okay. They were making googly eyes at each other this morning at breakfast, which was weird enough—my mom's not the googly-eyed type—but what was even weirder was that my dad got up early and made breakfast in the first place."

"What it good?" Emma said, smiling uncertainly.

"It was delicious. He made omelets. They were even better than my mom's. That was another thing: last night we went grocery shopping, just him and me, and it wasn't terrible. It was pretty cool. We, like, really talked."

"That's so sweet." "Yeah," Ben said shyly, and twirled the combination on his locker.

Emma watched him for a moment or two, then said, "Tell me something."

"Uh-huh?"

"Your parents, it sounds like they love each other."

Ben paused and looked at her. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I guess they do."

"That's so cool. Even after all this time and everything else that's happened."

"Yeah." There was something in her eyes, something sad and painful, and he hesitated before putting an arm around her shoulders. "What is it?"

Her hand came up to his chest and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "My parents are getting a divorce," she said quietly. "My mom's moving out. She says—she tells ZoÃƒÂ« and me that it's nothing to do with us, she just wants more—and she doesn't love my dad anymore—and all I can think is, why? You know? They've had such a normal life."

"Maybe that's why," Ben said quietly, and he ran his fingers along the ends of her hair where it curled, golden-white. She had the longest hair of anyone he knew. "Maybe it's harder to make love stay when there's nothing to really threaten it. If my mom and dad had been together all this time, maybe they wouldn't be now. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," Emma said, and sniffled.

"I'm sorry about your parents, Em."

"I knew you'd understand."

"That's me, Mr. Understanding."

She sniffled and giggled, and over their heads the bell rang. "Damn it," she said, closing her eyes.

"Yeah." Ben didn't want to let her go. Her body was strong and warm and she smelled like honey. Her hand felt utterly, completely right on his chest.

But she sighed and stepped back, and picked up her book bag from where she'd set it on the floor. "Okay. I've got to go. Want to each lunch together?"

"That would be great."

"Okay. Where do you want to meet?"

"I'll get you. What class do you have just before?"

"Chemistry in D-24."

"Okay. I'll meet you outside."

"Okay." She was reluctant to go, and Ben put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Shoo. You'll be late."

"So will you." She started to walk away, then turned and hugged him, tight and quick, and hurried to the nearest stairwell.

Ben stood at his locker, dumbstruck and delighted, until the second bell jarred him out of his daydream. He had to run to not be late.

^*^*^*^*^*

Eleven o'clock to twelve was Scully's first office hour of the day. She wasn't expecting anyone—most of her students had come the day before, in large groups, to prepare for their final exams. She had papers out on her desk and some preliminary questions for the final on her computer, but she couldn't concentrate. She'd barely gotten thought her lecture that morning, losing her train of thought repeatedly until one of her students asked her if she needed to sit down.

It was strange to feel this way, but not unfamiliar. Sex with Mulder the first time, seventeen years ago, had turned her into mush, too.

What a basket case she'd been the next day, goofy and silly and so happy she hardly knew what to do with herself. She'd held Mulder's hand as they walked into the Hoover building, knowing that everyone was looking at them and not caring who saw. "They're all looking at us," Mulder had said, out of the side of his mouth like a cartoon conspirator.

"Good," she'd answered, and he laughed and pulled her to him and kissed her, hard on the lips, on front of the tourists and the security guards and everybody else who had no idea how close they'd come to annihilation. As long as that kiss lasted everyone was looking at them, and as long as that kiss lasted Scully pitied them for not being loved like this.

Despite everything, that was a good day. The first of many good days, the first of what she hoped would be endless good days. Even when the story began to come out and she was afraid someone would break their promise and tell exactly what role two FBI agents had played, there had been many, many good days.

She'd often wondered if someone had told, and that was why Mulder was taken away—but that made no sense to her. Well, none of it made sense, that They—the ever-present They, the They who refused to admit defeat—would take Mulder way in the first place. Or what they had hoped the gain, if they had thought she would go mad without Mulder and thus, finally, defeat her.

Without Ben I might have, she thought. They weren't expecting that.

She smiled a little, remembering Ben's report of his conversation with Krycek over coffee, how Krycek had said no one expected Ben to exist. Surprise, she thought, looking at the framed picture of Ben beside her computer, and her smile broadened as it usually did when she contemplated the miracle that was her son.

She'd never thought he would exist, either, and it had seemed like too much to hope for that he would not only exist but would be strong and handsome and intelligent. But here he was. One last gift from the rebels who had helped them.

Or was he the last? The mysterious men who had put Mulder into Krycek's care, who had they been, for whom had they been working? And would they ever return?

She sighed and turned reluctantly to her computer. I really need to get some work done.

But someone knocked on her door and she was glad for the distraction. "Come in."

She expected one or more of her students, or possibly the department secretary, but it was none of these. "Hi, Scully," said Walter Skinner, and for a moment she was too surprised to smile.

"Walter. Hi. It's been a while."

"Yes, it has. May I?" He sat down in the chair in front of her desk. "I heard you were finally back in town and I thought I'd stop in to say hello."

"You made the trip all the way out here just to say hello? You know you're always welcome at the house."

"I thought it would be best if I came here." He ran his fingers over the edge of her desk. "I understand Mulder is back."

"Yes. He is."

"Uh-huh." Back and forth over the wood veneer. "How is he?"

"He's good. His health is good. His—" she took a deep breath, "his memory is returning."

"His memory?" Whoever had told him Mulder was back had obviously left out some details.

"There's a lot missing. But we're working on it."

"But he is all right?"

"He's all right. He's actually quite wonderful."

"I see." He finally stopped fidgeting. "I'm glad. I've been worried about you, you know."

"I know." She leaned forward. "Why don't you come over tomorrow night? The guys are coming, we're having dinner together. It'll be like old times."

He said, "I don't think I should."

"Ben misses you."

Skinner sighed and said, "I miss him too, but I think under the circumstances it would be best if I stayed away."

"Walter. One marriage proposal doesn't mean we're no longer friends."

"Maybe. But one marriage proposal plus Mulder coming back into your life does."

"Walter."

"I'm happy for you, Scully. I am. I know how much you've missed him. But I think it'll be a while before I'll visit again."

"I'm sorry. I really am."

"So am I." He rose, paused, and leaned over the desk to kiss her cheek. Scully accepted his kiss quietly, and watched him go with genuine sadness. He'd been a good friend to her all these years, tender and supportive, and his proposal had come out of nowhere, surprising her completely And of course she'd refused him. fI never wanted him to fall in love with me, she thought, and sighed, her need for Mulder only intensified by this encounter. I wish it were summer . . . I wish I could go home early . . .

Two o'clock. Two o'clock was the earliest she could leave and not feel unbearably guilty.

And it would be a good hour before Ben would come home. Longer if he was talking to his new friend again.

The day was already looking up. She smiled and took a deep breath, and turned to her computer, determined to get the final at least halfway written before her next lecture at twelve-thirty.

^*^*^*^*^*^

"How are you getting home today?" Emma asked as she and Ben ate their lunch on the grass in the commons.

"The usual. I walk."

"I can drive you. It's no trouble."

Ben was lying on his back, his arms under his head, and at this he closed his eyes and grinned. "I'm okay. Really. It's not that far."

"'Cause I'd kind of like to meet your parents."

Ben's eyes popped open. "Oh. Today?"

"Do you not want me to?"

"I hadn't really—I mean, I had thought about it, but not in terms of, like, soon."

"Why not?"

"Emma . . . I don't know if meeting my father right now would be a good thing. For either of you."

"Why? Do you think I'll scare him?"

"No . . ."

"Or that he'll scare me?"

"You're being silly, Emma."

"So are you."

They regarded each other quietly, then Emma said, "Look. You've met my dad—"

"And such a good impression I made, too."

"—and you're not going to meet my mom anytime soon, so . . . so I want to meet your folks." She added with a grin, "And any other family member you might care to toss at me."

Ben grinned back and rolled onto his side, towards her. "I have four godfathers. They'll all very wonderful guys but they're quite odd, in their own ways. They might scare you—but they're really quite nice."

"I'm not afraid of nothin'," Emma said, laughing, and Ben laughed with her.

In a moment they became aware that they were not alone, and Ben glanced at the new people uncomfortably.  They were some of Emma's friends, perky and pretty girls who always made him feel oafish and clumsy.

"Hey Trina," Emma said, not sounding any happier to see them than Ben felt. "Hey, Alyssa."

"Where have you been? We held the seat for you in the cafeteria and everything," Trina said.

"I told you I wasn't eating lunch with you guys today. Do you guys know Ben? This is Ben."

"Hey," Alyssa said softly.

"Hi," Ben said.

"Uh-huh," Trina said. "How could you bail on us today? We've got all this stuff to plan for, there's the whole summer coming up and we haven't decided anything."

"I think I'm going to do something more than hanging out at the mall this summer," Emma said quietly.

"Don't you want to come down to Trinity Island with me again this year?"

"Mm, and hang out at the Trinity Island mall. Probably not."

Trina dug the heel of her shoe into the grass a moment, then said, "So you'd rather hang out with this loser than with your friends."

Emma's eyes flared and she said, putting her hand on Ben's arm as he started to rise, "Leave Ben alone. He never did anything to you."

"His very existence offends me."

"Oh, get over yourself!" Emma said. "You're one girl in a big high school in a big city, in a big world, Trina, that you don't even think about, that you don't even acknowledge—and none of it is in a fucking mall."

"Yeah, you'd know about fucking," Trina sneered.

"Hey, guys, come on," Alyssa said quietly.

"Go do the football team," Emma said with disgust. "Go get wasted in the parking lot. Go do something you always do, 'cause you know what?You're never going to change. You're going to be forty-five years old and still worrying about hair colors and hemlines. I want to talk to somebody with some depth for once. Why don't you go talk about lip gloss with someone who cares."

"Bitch," Trina said.

"Oo, vocabulary," Emma said, her eyes like steel. "Did you think that up yourself or did your mommy think it up for you?"

Trina stared at her, her chest heaving, and she turned with a muttered, "Come on, Alyssa." She tossed over her shoulder as she walked away, "I guess Emma prefers geeks over worthwhile people."

Alyssa followed her, but looked at Emma, Ben thought, with some longing.

Emma had squeezed her eyes shut, and she was visibly trying to calm herself down. Ben put his hand on hers, and when she didn't pull away he put an arm around her. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he was alarmed to see tears on her lashes. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

"No."

"I gotta tell you, Emma, that was awesome, I've never seen anybody rip into someone like that except my mom."

She chuckled tearily and said, "I'm sorry you had to see that. It's been a long time coming. The people who you fit in with when you're ten, they're not always right for you when you're sixteen."

"I know. I know. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For standing up for me."

"Trina's a snob. And she's ignorant. She thinks the capital of the world is headquarters of the Gap."

"That was still about the coolest thing I've ever seen. You're tough."

She looked up at him, her head still on his shoulder. "You're not a geek. And you're not a loser."

"There's nothing wrong with being a geek." He smiled a little. "Welcome to the other side, Em."

She looked up at the oak leaves overhead, and said, "I bet I'll be a lot happier here."

*~*~*~*~*

Scully expected—sort-of hoped—for Mulder to be waiting for her on the front steps. She found him instead in the kitchen, making dinner. His smile was large and genuine, however, when he saw her, and he wiped his hands on a towel and hugged her tight.

"You look so nice I don't know if I should kiss you."

"You should," Scully said, so he kissed her. "Mm . . . it's good to be home."

"Did you have a good day?"

"It was okay. It' was an all-right day. I saw an old friend today, for the first time in a long while."

"Isn't that good?"

"Normally it would be, but we had a—a misunderstanding a few months ago."

"I'm not sure I understand," Mulder said softly. His hands were doing gentle and wonderful things to her shoulders, and Scully sighed and leaned against him.

"He asked me to marry him," she murmured, "and he was very hurt when I said no."

Mulder sighed too and stopped rubbing her shoulders. "Why did you say no?"

"Because it's not right to marry someone when you're in love with someone else." She looked up at him, tightening her arms around his chest. "You don't think I should have said yes, do you?"

"No . . . only your friend might have made you happy."

"Not as happy as I am right now, standing here and holding you." She began to rub his chest in slow circles with her palm. "I wouldn't trade this for anything."

He put his hand over hers on his chest and said, "Dance with me, Scully."

She laughed. "There's no music."

"I'll hum." He started humming something in &frac34 time, and she fell into step with him, deciding to ask him later when he had learned to waltz.

======== Sixteen ========

The pasta salad for their dinner cooling safely in the fridge, Mulder decided to join Scully in the back yard. She'd changed her work clothes for jeans and a t-shirt, and had sat outside in the swing for that last half-hour, dreamily swinging back and forth. He'd watched her as much as he could, admiring the way the sun shone on her hair and wondering what she was thinking about.

She smiled when he joined her on the swing, and leaned against his chest comfortably. Mulder used one heel to rock them slowly back and forth, and ran one hand lightly up and down her arm while he held her around the waist with the other.

"Is Ben home yet?" she murmured.

"Not yet."

"I hope . . . this girl worries me. I'm terrified she'll break his heart and he'll end up hating women forever. He's so sensitive."

"I think," Mulder said slowly, "that if Ben is willing to trust her that way we should believe he's made the right choice."

"I hope you're right."

"Of course I am."

"Oh, of course," Scully murmured, her voice low and amused. She reached back to stroke the back of his neck with her fingertips, her nails scratching him lightly. Mulder burrowed his head into the crook of her neck and sighed with contentment.

"Tell me a story," he said.

"What kind of story?"

"Tell me about the day Ben was born."

"Oh, my," she said, chuckling. "That's a tale. All right. My mother and the guys were taking turns being with me, because I was overdue and they didn't want me to go into labor alone. I'd been having contractions, not very strong ones, for about two days, several hours apart, so I knew it would be soon, but I wasn't sure how soon. So on this particular day," she said with another small chuckle, "my mother went to the store for a few minutes and got rear-ended while she was out, so she was gone much longer than she thought she would be. Frohike had been with me earlier but he had an appointment so I told him to go ahead and go, my mother would be back soon and Byers was on his way anyway. So he left, but my mother didn't come back and Byers didn't show up. It turned out he got stuck in traffic.

"Anyway, I was alone and the contractions had started coming closer together, and I realized if this kept up I would have to drive myself to the hospital, which I did not look forward to because once a contraction is going it's really hard to concentrate on anything else. I tried calling my mother but she'd forgotten the cell phone, and the guys didn't trust cell phones so none of them had one. So I decided I'm not having this baby in my apartment, wrote a note to my mother, dragged my suitcase out to the car, and drove myself."

"That's my strong Scully," Mulder said, squeezing her gently.

"On the way I decided to call Skinner. He and I hadn't been talking a great deal since I'd been reassigned, but he was glad to hear from me and agreed to meet me at the hospital. So he was there by the time I got there, and helped me check in and get settled. And he was lucky enough to be there when I went into serious, white-knuckled, trying-not-to-scream labor. It scared him. He kept saying, 'This is too much, you need drugs,' and I kept telling him, 'No, no, I don't want drugs.' He just about fainted when my water finally broke."

Again Mulder squeezed her about her waist, and kissed her neck. Scully caressed his face and went on, "I was in labor about fourteen hours, which isn't so bad, considering most first babies take a long time. My mother finally showed up, fresh from reporting the accident, and the guys were there in time to see me sweating and swearing at the very worst of it. They took turns holding my hand. It was very sweet of them, really."

"What was it like, giving birth?" Mulder whispered.

"Oh . . . Hard. It's called labor for a reason. But beautiful in its way. Moving. Spiritual. I don't know, Mulder, it's hard to explain. It was the hardest physical work my body has ever done but at the same time the physical part of it wasn't important, it was that I was giving birth and it was your baby and . . ." She sighed, and laced her fingers through his hand at her waist. "I wanted you terribly."

Mulder closed his eyes and said through a husky throat, "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Mulder." She shifted in the swing to look at him. "Mulder. Look at me." He opened his eyes.  "It wasn't your fault. You know that."

"But that's the part that makes me angry, Scully. I should have been there."

Scully said nothing for a few minutes, just stroked his face tenderly and kissed him lightly, and then said quietly, "When they put Ben into my arms I cried. I just held him and cried. I wanted you to be there, I wanted you to burst into the delivery room and witness the birth of your son, I wanted you to tell me you loved me and would never leave me again. I had fantasized about that. I wished for it, every day, and I desperately wanted to find a way to make it true.And when I held him and he was bloody and messy and screaming, that was when I knew there wasn't going to be any magic, you weren't going to just reappear. If I would ever have you back I would have to find you. And I'd do it. I vowed it then and there. For Ben's sake, I'd find you."

He kissed her forehead and leaned his own against hers, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. "Thank you."

"For what?" She kissed his tears.

"For loving me that much."

"Oh, Mulder . . . " she whispered, kissing him more, and Mulder kissed her back and held her tightly. "I do love you," she whispered. "You believe that, don't you?"

"Yes. I do. What I don't understand, really, is why."

"Mulder . . ."

"I mean, I'm not the man I was. I know that. And I have to ask myself, do you love who I am or who I used to be?"

Scully traced his lips with her fingers and said, "They're one and the same to me, Mulder." He sighed and leaned his head against her shoulder. "You're not like how you used to be, that's true. But there are things about you that are so unmistakably Mulder that I don't think anyone could really think you're not the same person. You're still Mulder. You're my Mulder. That's all that really matters to me."

"Like what?" he whispered.

"Fundamental things. Your gentleness. Your affection. The way you look at me. Even the way you make love."

"You recognize the way I make love?"

"Oh, yes. You have that same focus, that same intensity. When we make love it's like there no one in the world but us."

"Do you like that, Scully?"

"Yes. I do."

They were touching each other, gently, enraptured. Light fingers over cheekbones and chins, down necks and through hair. Their eyes held each other's, and their mouths smiled. He whispered, "What would the neighbors say if we made love here?"

"I'm not worried about the neighbors so much as I am about Ben coming home."

"Oh, yeah," Mulder said, leaning back his head and closing his eyes. "I guess we'll just to wait a while."

"Just a little while. Just a few hours. Think you can bear it?" She kissed him, keeping her eyes open.

"Since I have to, yes, I can." He picked her up and set her on his lap, and she laughed. "But will you kiss me for a while, to tide me over?"

"Yes," Scully said, and kissed him, her arms around his neck.

Just a few minutes passed this way when they were interrupted by a slightly embarrassed cough, and Scully stopped kissing Mulder to look behind her. Ben stood on the steps from the house into the garden, holding hands with a blonde girl. "Hi," Ben said. "Um, we can go inside—"

"It's all right, Benjie, come on," Scully said, moving off Mulder's lap to sit beside him in the swing again. Ben led the girl down the steps, and they stopped in front of the swing.

"I—uh—this is Emma," he said. "This is Dana Scully and Fox Mulder. My mom and dad."

"Hello, Emma," Scully said, shaking her hand, and she glanced at Mulder and quirked her eyebrow. Mulder grinned back.

"Hi, Emma," he said, shaking her hand carefully.

"Hi. Hi. It's so good to meet you. Ben's told me so much about you both."

At Scully's look Ben ducked his head and said, "Well, we've had to talk about something besides calculus. I want to show Emma around the house a little, okay?"

"All right," Scully said. "Would you like to stay for dinner, Emma?"

"It's pasta salad," Mulder said. "With chicken."

Emma looked at Ben, and he nodded, smiling. "I'd love to. I'll have to call my dad, of course, but I'd like that very much."

"Cool," Ben said, and they went back into the house.

Scully's smile faded and she sighed, and leaned back against Mulder again. "If you had known you'd have to deal with teenage first love, would you have wanted to come home?"

"Of course."

His arm around her shoulders and her head against his chest, they swung in companionable silence for a while.

^*^*^*^*^*

Ben was just glad he'd made his bed that morning. Emma sat down at his desk and pulled up her legs, setting her backpack on the floor, and grinned at him, and he sat down on the bed and grinned back. "Are you hungry or anything? Do you want something to drink?"

"I'm okay. Your parents seem really nice."

"Yeah."

"And this is such a cool house. How long have you lived here?"

"Just about all my life. My mom was in an apartment when I was born but decided I needed a backyard, so here we are."

"You've got a huge music collection."

"I like music. It makes me happy."

Emma nodded, and looked at his cluttered desk. She picked up a picture frame and said, "Who is this?"

"Emily. My sister."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

"She died before I was born. She had a rare blood disease of some kind. I don't know the details."

"It must have been hard for your mom."

"Yeah."

Emma nodded, still holding the picture frame. "She doesn't look like you at all."

"Different fathers."

"Really? Your mom was married before she was with your dad?"

"No . . ." Ben sighed. "When my mom had been working with my dad a while she was kidnapped. She still doesn't know who did it, exactly, or what was done to her. But stuff was done . . . bad stuff . . . and part of it was they took her ova."

"You're making this up."

"I'm not. And they used her ova to make Emily. She doesn't know who Emily's father was. She didn't give birth to her. She didn't know Emily existed until, like, a month before Emily died."

"People don't do things like that."

"They don't anymore, but they used to. Emily is the proof."

Emma said nothing, looking at the picture with a serious expression. She looked up at Ben and said, "What happened to your father?"

"The same people took him, they did shit to him, and they gave him back. Only instead of giving him back to us, like they did with my mom when they were through with her, they gave him to a guy named Krycek and told him to take care of him. He did for a long time and then when Mom found him he stepped away. So now we've got a guy who's nearly sixty but he's like a kid, and it's weird . . . but I'm glad he's here."

Emma nodded again, slowly. "You remember when you said you thought they might not be together if he'd been around this whole time?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think that's true."

"How so?"

She smiled a little. "The way he looked at her. The way they were kissing when we came outside. I think if he'd been here you'd have seen that all your life. That's the real thing."

Ben shook his head. "Maybe. Of course we'll never know. Maybe they'd still be together, maybe I'd have a ton of brothers and sisters, maybe they'd have split up a long time ago. Who knows. What's important is that he's here now, and she's happy."

"You love your mom lot, don't you?" Emma said, putting the picture frame down at last.

"Yeah," Ben said, watching her face. "I mean, of course there are other people in our lives but they've always seemed—I dunno, peripheral—and all that really mattered was Mom and me."

Emma nodded, her gaze distant, and then she looked at him and smiled a tiny bit. "You're lucky, you know that? You've got two parents who love each other like crazy and love you like crazy . . . that's something everybody wants, I think. That's what we all wish for. Part of it, anyway."

"And the other part?" Ben said, smiling himself, and she blushed a little.

"Oh . . . that part's important too, don't you think? A whole circle of love you can wrap yourself up in." She pulled up her knee and rested her chin on it, her arms around her leg.

"Yeah, I think it's important. Everybody wants love."

"Real love."

"True love." Ben was trembling, and as he looked at her he thought, Now, now, now. He said softly, "Emma."

"Yeah, Ben?"

"You make me happy too."

She didn't say anything, but the way her eyes sparkled said enough. She unwrapped her legs and moved in the chair as he walked across the room, and he knelt down so their eyes were level. She put her hands on his shoulders and smiled, her eyes serious.

He said again, softly, "Emma," and leaned forward, and kissed her lips carefully. He felt her quick exhale of breath and pulled away for a moment, and her hands touched his face and pulled him back.

Her lips were sweet, waxy from her lip balm, and soft.

"Hey," she said when they finally parted for breath.

"Hey."

She smiled at him and rubbed his shoulders. "You make me happy too, Benjie," she said quietly.

"Except when I'm being a jerk."

"You recover from that pretty quickly, it's not so bad."

"I'll do better. I'll try."

"It's okay. I know it's hard for you to be open all the time."

"Not just hard. Next to impossible. But I'll try, Emma, you'll see, I can be the best boyfriend you've ever had."

"Boyfriend?" she whispered.

"Oh . . . I mean—"

"Boyfriend," she repeated. "Yeah. My boyfriend, Ben Scully. It works."

"Whew," Ben said, not quite meaning it to be a joke. She smiled at him again and continued rubbing his shoulders, and he said, "Is it okay to kiss you again?"

"That would be great," she said, so he did.

========== Seventeen ==========

Something had happened between the children between their talk in the garden and when Mulder called them down for dinner. Scully frowned, trying to place it. They hadn't fought. They were smiling, touching each other's hands, looking at each other before they spoke whenever a question was asked. Emma looked like she was about to burst into giggles, and Ben looked—what, exactly?

Like Mulder that long ago day when he'd kissed her the first time.

Scully set down her glass and coughed into her napkin, and Ben said worriedly, "Mom? Are you okay?"

"Fine," she gasped, and leaned back against Mulder's hand, which rubbed her spine in comfort. "Fine."

Well, it had to happen someday, didn't it? She'd always known it would, hoped it would, that someone would see in Ben what she saw: that he was smart, handsome and interesting young man, that he was well worth loving. She'd always told herself she'd welcome whomever Ben chose to love into their lives, despite her fears for his gentle heart. It was natural, it was expected, circle of life and all that.

She looked at her handsome baby, who was still watching her carefully to make sure she was still breathing, and smiled. "Sorry. I swallowed too quickly."

He nodded, looking down at his plate, and Scully thought, Not a baby anymore. On his way to being a man. She sighed, and Mulder's hand continued rubbing her back, slowly. She looked at him, wondering if he knew it too, and saw in his smile that yes, he did.

"Don't choke, Scully, that wouldn't be good," he said solemnly, and she touched his cheek.

"Sorry to scare you. I'm okay." She sipped her juice, and when his hand nudged hers beneath the table she held onto it. "It's such a nice night. Let's go for a walk after supper."

"We can do the cleaning up," Ben said quickly, then looked at Emma. "Is that okay?"

"Sure," Emma said.

"Thank you, Benjie." She noticed the way Emma smiled when she called him that, and wondered if she, too, would turn a name into a term of endearment loaded with meaning and nuances no one else would ever understand. Mulder had told her, long ago, "It got to the point when every time I called you Scully I meant something else: love, sweetheart, dearest, muffin." "Muffin," she'd repeated, laughing, and teased him by calling him Doughnut for a week.

Scully glanced at Mulder again and tightened her hold on his hand for a moment. He squeezed back and smiled at her. Would he remember that, ever? If she called him Doughnut now would there be a moment of recognition or would he just be confused?

I am not going to do this to either of us, she thought. I'm not going to pin my hopes on his remembering things that may never come back. I'll tell him about them all, someday, if he wants, but I'm not going to hurt him by trying to make him remember and being disappointed when he doesn't.

When they all had finished eating the children started cleaning up at once, but Mulder was slower to rise. Scully watched him for a moment as he pushed the remains of his meal around his plate, and then went to stand behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. She rubbed his shoulders gently. "Are you okay?"

"Of course."

"We can stay in if you want."

"If you want to go walking I want to come with you. You're right, it's a beautiful night." He put down his fork and turned in the chair, and put his arms around her waist. "And it's only your neighbors, right?"

"Yes, and they're very nice people, most of them."

"So it will be fine."

"Yes." She stroked his face. "It'll be just fine."

"All right, then. I'm coming." He stood and brought his dishes to the sink, and Emma took them from him.

"You two go, have a few minutes alone," she said, waving her hand at them. "We'll be fine here."

Scully took Mulder's hand. She could still feel his hesitation, his worry about this next new experience, and she said, "If you want to stay in it's okay to say so."

"I want to walk with you," he said, looking into her eyes, and there was something about that simple phrase that made Scully tremble and tighten her hand on his. He no longer was the man who could make a simple question sound like a proposition, but there was still that sensuality to him, the need to give love and show love the way he had always best understood it.

They walked hand-in-hand up the block, stopping to admire neighbors' flower gardens or for Scully to point out a particular friend. It was a fine spring night, warm and breezy, and many others on the block were out as well: children playing in their front yards, parents gardening or watching the world go by. Mulder said little when she stopped to talk to her neighbors, but he held Scully's hand very tight.

As they rounded the corner to head back home, Mulder said, "Scully, do you think . . ."

"Do I think what, sweetheart?"

He sighed. "Maybe I'm just shy."

She smiled and said, "Maybe. I think it's more that you're not used to being around strangers. You'll get over it, I'm sure."

"What if I don't?"

She squeezed his hand and said, "It'll be all right either way."  They walked a little further, then Scully said, "Mulder. Would you tell me a story?"

"I'll try. What about?"

"Tell me about when you were homeless. Tell me what that was like."

He wrinkled his forehead. "I don't want to talk about that, Scully. It was a very bad time."

"But that's why I want to know about it. I want to know what you went through."

Mulder walked with his head down, holding her hand tightly, and said, his voice low, "I was frightened all the time. I was hungry and cold. And I was looking so hard for something . . ." He glanced at her. "Someone. I was looking for my angel and I didn't know where to look, where to start. I only hoped I would find you somehow."

Scully rubbed his arm in sympathy. "I've wondered if I saw you on the streets and didn't recognize you."

"I would have known you, even if you didn't know me."

"Yes," Scully said. "You probably would have."

"I don't know when, exactly, I started seeing things. I'd started thinking—Dr. Lucas had started to convince me that not everything I saw was real. But now I'm not so sure. I still see things, Scully."

"Like my wings?"

He looked at her and said, "They're gold and white and they're so beautiful, Scully."

"Mulder . . ." She leaned her head against his arm. "You've held me, you've touched me. You know they're imaginary."

"But I see them. I see . . . something." She sighed and he bit his lip. "I'm sorry. It makes you unhappy."

"It worries me, sweetheart. That's all. Do you see other things, too?"

"I'm afraid of seeing some of those other things again. I don't want to see them." He paused again, and said, "Sometimes I'd stay in homeless shelters and my nightmares would scare the other people there. So it got so that I'd stay awake all the time, and the people in charge would ask me, &#8216;Are you on drugs?' &#8216;No.' &#8216;Are you sick?' &#8216;No.' &#8216;Then why won't you sleep?' And I'd tell them, I'm afraid to sleep. I'm afraid of what I'll see. They were so real, Scully."

"Oh, sweetheart." She let go of his hand and cupped his face tenderly. "You know you're safe now, don't you?"

"I hope I am." They regarded each other quietly, then Mulder said, "Let's go home, Scully."

She nodded, and they walked on.

^*^*^*^*^*

"Well," Emma said eventually. There was little cleaning up to do, just getting the dishes into the washer and scrubbing the few bowls Mulder had used to cook. Now they sat on the porch steps, holding hands and watching the world go by.

"Yeah?"

"I don't know what you were so worried about. Your dad, he's quiet but he's not weird."

"No, he's not. He's just . . . I don't know. Simple. I told you he's like a kid, and in a lot of ways he is. And it's weird having a stranger in the house."

"He's not a complete stranger. Your mom knows him."

"She knows him better than he does, literally. She probably knows him better than anybody in the world."

"That sounds nice," Emma said softly. "To know somebody completely. To not have any secrets." She took a deep breath and said quickly, "Ben, I have to tell you something."

His heart clenched but he said, "Okay."

"You remember what Trina said earlier today, when she was so angry?"

"Yeah." He remembered all of it.

"It's not quite the truth. It's not quite a lie, either. I've never—you know—gone all the way but I've done some things. You should know that." She looked at him like she expected him to be repulsed.

"Thank you for telling me." He added casually, "I've never kissed a girl before today."

"Really?" She smiled a little. "Never?"

"Never. You're the first."

"Your first kiss." She grinned more broadly, looking out at the street. "Wow. That's . . . that's . . . I'm really glad of that."

"You are?"

"Yeah. I'm your first kiss. No one else is ever going to be your first kiss. That makes me feel . . . really good."

He grinned back, and then leaned over and kissed her again, gently. "You're special, you know. I've always known that about you."

"Ever since kindergarten?"

"Yeah."

"I always knew you'd be special to me someday. I guess I was just waiting for you to let me."

"Emma." He took her other hand and squeezed them both. "You and me . . . it's not out of pity or because you're lonely or something, right? You're with me because you want to be?"

"Yes, Benjie, how can you ask that? I'm with you because I like you. You make me feel smart and pretty and like I'm a good person."

"You are a good person."

"Well, there you go." She hesitated. "There are some guys who don't make me feel like a good person. That don't make me feel anything good."

Ben watched her, her features sparkling in the sun like a cameo, and he said, "I don't ever want to say or do anything that hurts you, ever again. It's not right."

"Thank you." She sighed. "I should go. It's getting late."

"Okay." He stood and held out his hands to bring her to her feet. "See you tomorrow?"

"I'll be there." He hugged her tight, and said, "I was stupid before, you know? We could have been friends a long time if I'd thought you really wanted to be."

"I do. But it's okay, we've got now."

"Yeah." He kissed her and opened the car door for her. "Be safe, Emma."

"I will." She smiled at him and got into her car, received his kiss smiling and drove away.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Ben and Emma were standing by Emma's car, holding each other. Ben stepped back a little as his parents approached, and gave Emma a quick kiss on the lips. He opened her car door for her and kissed her again once she was inside, and stood on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets as she drove away.

"She's a nice girl," Scully said when they reached him.

"Yeah. I like her." He grinned, blushing. "But I guess that's obvious."

"Just a little." She smiled at him and wound her arm through his. Both her men with her, how wonderful. "Mrs. De La Cruz wanted to know if you'd mow for her again this summer."

"Sure. I'll give her a call later tonight. What do you think of our neighbors, Mulder?"

"Oh . . . they're nice, I suppose."

"Yeah. We've got some good people around here."

They headed up the front steps to the door. It's not perfect yet, Scully thought, it's not quite like he's been here all along, but we're getting there. We've got a long way to go but we've started the journey. She squeezed both their hands, and they both smiled down at her.

My family, she thought, and the words thrilled her. Complete at last.

End Part II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy my fanfic, please consider purchasing my [original fiction](http://jennajones.com).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh shooting star that fell into my eyes and through my body—  
> Not to forget you. To endure."
> 
> —"Death", Rainier Maria Rilke.

========= Eighteen =========

The July heat was oppressive, even though they had the windows open and a fan running in the hope to catch a breeze. Mulder slept only in his boxer shorts, and Scully in her lightest cotton summer pajamas, a tank top and shorts, and they had pushed away the sheet soon after going to bed. He slept fitfully, muttering and tossing, and had finally settled into something like a restful sleep curled around his pillow.

Scully didn't think she was going to sleep at all, again. She couldn't sleep in excessive heat, no matter what she tried, and the heat wave was going on four days now. She was exhausted and irritable, and had nearly bit off both the heads of her menfolk at dinner that evening, when Ben explained, "PMS," and Mulder responded softly, "Oh, I see," looking at her as if she were an exotic new creature that he didn't know how to approach.

They were trying, though, the clueless dears. Ben had gotten her a pint of her favorite ice cream and Mulder had rubbed her neck, rolling the carton of ice cream over her shoulders until it started to melt. She'd cooled down briefly, but now it was approaching the wee hours of the morning and she still hadn't slept.

She pushed herself up and out of bed. Mulder barely stirred, and she looked at him a moment, tenderly. She went to the other side of the bed so that she could bend and gently kiss his forehead, and smooth his hair back from his face. His hair was growing back nicely from its previous institutional buzz cut, thick and iron-grey. She thought it made him look distinguished and wise, like a village elder.

She went into the bathroom and turned on the light, and splashed some cold water on her face. Times like these she wished they had a swimming pool. How cooling a relaxing swim would be. The local pool usually did them all fine—Ben swam like an otter and Mulder swam happily, if without his former finesse, at every opportunity.

Her two water babies, she thought fondly, and ran her damp hand over the back of her neck. What a pair they were. Neither was sure of how to act as father and son but they were gentle with each other, encouraging and increasingly comfortable. They even had a few private jokes. They were improving.

"Scully."

"I'm in here, Mulder." She patted her face with the hand towel and rubbed some lotion onto her hands and arms.

"Scully."

"I'll be right there." She rubbed some lotion onto the soles of her feet. Anything to cool down.

"Scully!" She heard him shifting around, and there was an edge of panic in his voice. "Scully!"

This was more than wondering where she was. Scully dropped the bottle of lotion and ran back into the bedroom. Mulder was tossing about, his eyes still closed, and his neck muscles were taut as again he screamed, "Scully!"

Scully grabbed him and hauled him into her lap, holding him to her chest. She stroked his forehead with her palm. "Sh, sh, Mulder, sh. It's okay. I'm right here, baby. I'm right here. Sh. Sh."

Eventually he calmed down and lay in her arms panting. He clumsily stroked her arm that she held over his chest with his fingertips, again and again.

When it seemed to her that he could speak calmly she whispered, "Was it a bad dream?"

"You were dying," he said hoarsely. "You were dying and there was nothing I could do. I couldn't save you. I couldn't save you."

"Sh&#8230;" She kissed the top of his head and rocked him gently from side to side. "It's all right. It was only a dream."

"It was real, Scully, it happened. You were dying. Your brother blamed me. Your mother did too but never said so, but I could see it in her face. And it was my fault. It never would have happened if you'd never met me."

"No, Mulder, baby, that's not true. It never was your fault. Bad things were done to me just like they were done to you. It wasn't your doing. It wasn't your fault."

"You had cancer," he said bleakly. "I went to your room one night and I cried. I tried to stay quiet so I wouldn't wake you but it was so hard. I just wanted to scream and scream."

"I wish you had woken me up. I could have comforted you." She kissed his head again, cupping his forehead in her hand. "And I didn't die, Mulder. I'm healthier than I've ever been. The—treatment—whatever you want to call it—our allies gave me cured of quite a few strange things, that I've noticed. I'm healthy. I'm robust, even."

Mulder went on petting her arm, and then said, "You still have the dreams."

"What dreams?" she whispered.

"Dreams like I had. That you're dying. Sometimes I wake up and you're tossing and turning and there are tears on your face, and I stroke your face until you calm down." He craned his head to look at her. "Do you remember what you dream?"

"Sometimes," Scully said through a tight throat. "I dream that I'm dying and there's no one to take care of Ben. Sometimes I dream that a man that I hated, that I feared, I dream that he comes to me and says, 'Oh, Agent Mulder, he's been dead for years, here's the body.' And sometimes, Mulder, sometimes I dream that I find you and there's nothing left of you, nothing but a shell."

Mulder turned in her arms and embraced her gently. He kissed the center of her forehead and she closed her eyes. "And they're only dreams."

"I know."

"Is it all right that I comfort you without waking you up?"

"Yes. It's all right." She was trembling, and he eased himself carefully around her so that now she was above him and he was supporting her. Her forehead fit perfectly into the crook of his neck, her breasts pressed comfortably against his chest. She shifted her hips against his waist and smiled as he moaned. "Show me, Mulder. Show me what you do."

"Well . . ." His voice was raspy. "First I hold you tight, like this."

"Uh-huh."

"And sometimes I kiss you around your face, like this."

"Uh-huh."

"And I stroke your cheeks, like this." He brushed the backs of his fingers and then his whole hands on her cheeks, and Scully couldn't even form a response, gasping quietly instead. "Or over you forehead, like this." His fingertips traced soft patterns on her forehead. "And if you're crying I kiss your tears, like this." He kissed beneath her eyes, and then pulled back to look at her.

"That explains why I've had so many sweet dreams lately," she whispered, brushing her fingers gently against his neck. "You take such good care of me, Mulder."

"I try." He took a deep breath and shudderingly let it out. He rubbed her shoulders with his palms. "Are you feeling sleepy, Scully?"

"No. I feel very awake."

"Me too."

Scully lifted her head from its comfortable position on his shoulder and grazed her lips over his. "I want you," she whispered, and he groaned and clasped her waist.

"Yes," he said simply, and slipped his hands under the hem of her tank top. As they slid up her sides, taking her tank top with them, he kissed her, his tongue playful and eager in her mouth. She held onto the kiss as long as she could as he eased off her tank top, breaking it only long enough for him to raise the top over her head, and she wrapped her arms around his head and resumed kissing him, hard and hungry.

It hit her again, as it did every time they made love, how much she had missed him, missed this. Every part of him was precious to her, tenderly and dearly beloved. She loved to climb into his lap at odd moments and kiss him for a while. She loved to wrap her arms and legs around him while he slept. She loved waking up to find him playing with a lock of her hair or stroking her forehead. She loved to hold his hand while they sat in the garden swing, saying nothing, nothing needing to be said.

He rolled them onto their sides and kissed her neck, as his fingers traced a path between her breasts and over her belly. He made a soft sound in his throat and lifted his mouth, and said, "You feel different," before resuming to kiss her again.

"Different how?" She could hardly bear to lift her mouth enough to speak but she was curious.

"Warmer."

"It's the heat."

"Warm . . . heavy . . ." He took a nipple between his lips and tugged gently. "Full."

"About to be filled," she breathed, and grinned at his answering look. She loved the faint freckles scattered over his cheeks, and she had an urge to kiss each and every one. She'd only gotten to a few when he placed his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back.

"Scully. There's something I want to ask you."

"I'm not in the mood for stories, Mulder."

"I don't want a story. I've been thinking."

"What is it?"

"Well . . . your body's different. Your sleeping has been different. Your moods have been different. You said earlier it wasn't PMS, you're having meno-menopause," he stumbled a bit over the word, "but I wonder if that's true."

"Believe me, Mulder, at my age it's perfectly normal."

"Mm," he said, sounding unconvinced. "You had your period twice."

"Mulder."

He went on anyway, "And then you didn't. And you didn't again this month. And I looked at that book you have and I looked at that chapter you're reading and it doesn't sound like the same thing."

Scully ruffled his hair with her fingers, scratching gently on his scalp. She wasn't sure what touched her more, his desire to understand or his attempts to explain himself to her. "So what do you think it is?"

"I looked at one of the earlier chapters." He had been steadily stroking her thigh, his hand warm and light. "I wonder if maybe you're going to have a baby." He looked up at her with hopeful, terrified eyes.

Scully nearly laughed, but took a deep breath and stopped herself. "Mulder, I'm fifty-three. Believe me, I'm not going to have a baby at this point in my life."

"You had Ben."

"Seventeen years ago, at an age when fertility is not always a question."

"But you thought you couldn't, and you did. And I wonder if, maybe, it's still true, that you think you can't but really you can."

"Mulder. Love. Women my age do have babies but only after a great deal of medical interference. And I think—I've always thought—that Ben's conception was a gift. A last way for our allies to say thank you.  It seems greedy to expect it again."

"But I've been thinking. They took away the cancer. Maybe they gave you something back. You said you're healthy. I know you're healthy. I just wonder if maybe you're healthier than you know."

Scully bit her lip, leaning her head against Mulder's shoulder. It was a sweet flight of fancy but it was too ridiculous. To have another child, at their ages, at this point in their lives, with a son almost ready to graduate high school and so much rediscovering to be done. She said, "I can see why you'd want that to be true, Mulder, but I don't see how it can be."

"I don't think you really think it is menopause."

For a moment Scully said nothing, and ran her tongue over her lips.Mulder had always been able to see through her—it had seemed to her that he barely accepted the way she would gloss over whatever pain she might be in or worries she might have, but tolerated it because he respected her privacy. The old Mulder would have let her statement rest.

But this Mulder was within her boundaries, not outside them. This Mulder never let her get away with a simple if not quite true "I'm fine." This Mulder would press and press until he was satisfied. This Mulder was never satisfied with anything less than the full truth.

She licked her lips again and said, not daring to look at him, "All right. The thought has crossed my mind."

"Crossed?" he whispered.

"Moved in and started to set up house." He touched her cheek and she raised her eyes to his at last. He was smiling, just a little. "But it's impossible," she said, and the smile didn't fade.

"So was Ben," he said softly, and kissed her lips. "You want it to be true. You want it just like I do. Tell me you want it to be true, Scully."

"I don't know," she whispered, hiding her face from him again. "I don't know. I just—it's so—even ten years ago it would have been hard to grasp, and now—"

"Scully." He kissed her hair, stroking her back. "Let's find out before we start to worry."

She took a deep breath and let it out. If it were true—if it wasn't— "I want it to be true," she whispered, her lips against his chest, and Mulder chuckled and tightened his arms around her even more.

"Just think," he said softly, "how pretty you'll look with a little baby, Scully."

"There's so much more to it than that."

She could hear his smile. "I know. It's going to be wonderfully fun, isn't it."

She laughed despite herself, and looked at him at last, resting her chin on his chest. "Mulder. It's insane."

"And this surprises you?" He looked so happy. "After shootings and diseases and fires and alien invasions, what's one more miracle baby?"

"You know, if you're wrong I might be more disappointed than relieved."

"I'm never wrong."

She kissed his smug smile and said, "You can believe that, if you want to." She kissed him again. "You're right often enough."

His hand cupped the back of her head and pulled her close again, and kissed her with a fierce sort of tenderness that left her breathless. "Right or wrong, I love you," he said, his voice rumbling, and the layers of meaning to it made her tremble. Her arousal, ebbing during this strange conversation, returned with such force that her hips thrust against his in a sharp lunge, and he clutched her hip with strong fingers. "I love you," he said again, kissing her, and she whimpered, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Again and again he kissed her, whispering "I love you" with each kiss, and his gentle friendly hands touched her body until she was rising against him, silently asking for more, knowing she would not be denied.

And she was not denied. His lips were soft, his tongue warm and clever, seeking out the places on her skin that made her sigh and gasp. He touched her as if she were the most fascinating specimen of womanhood in existence, turning her this way and that to explore her, stopping to kiss a favorite place, holding her tightly as if he meant to press her into his heart. He stroked her sex delicately, and kissed her to muffle the sounds of her climax. And when he knelt between her thighs, poised and ready, he whispered, "Even if it isn't true, I want to make it so," and she could only nod.

Yes, she thought. Love like this deserves to be shared.

She moaned at his first few thrusts and had to turn away her face from him, overwhelmed. She loved the feeling of his cock inside her but she was so tightly coiled she thought it might become painful quickly. Mulder caressed her face with his fingertips and she opened her lips, darting out her tongue against them.

"I need—I need—"

"Anything you need, Scully. Always."

"I need a minute."

Mulder pulled out of her carefully and she pressed her hands to her eyes for a moment. She lowered them and opened her eyes, looking at him in the dim light. His skin was flushed and his cock was slick from being inside her, and it seemed to her it rose even higher under her gaze. She glanced up his face and he shrugged a little.

"Just what you do to me, Scully," he said softly, and she lowered her hands from her face. She held out her arms to him and he lay against her as if he feared he might crush her. Scully adjusted herself, easing her hips against his, and they both moaned as she took him into her. They made love side by side, slowly, stopping now and again to just touch, to whisper and kiss, and then began again, moving together and together and together in a union that was as sweet as it was intense.

"Yes," she cooed to him, "that's it, my love, give it to me, let it go."

"Not without you."

His words made her gasp and he smiled briefly, obviously pleased. He lowered his head to her breast and suckled her, back and forth, his hips rocking against her. Scully closed her eyes and then opened them, watching his mouth and his tongue as he tugged and teased and fondled her, and the sheer happiness on his face made her soul soar. She said his name and said it again, urgently, then insistently, and then called out to him as if his name was all that kept her alive and breathing.

She loved him so much. She loved the taste of his skin and the depth of his eyes. She loved his chest pressed against her breasts, his weight bearing down on her. She loved how adored he made her feel, how special and perfect. She loved the reverent way he kissed her body and the tender way he touched her skin. She loved the warmth of his mouth and the soft grunts he couldn't hide when he was nearing his orgasm. She loved to relearn his body with her lips and tongue, to make him shiver and moan. She loved to feel his mouth on her breasts and his fingers between her legs. She loved to kiss his neck. She loved to suck his nipples. And more than any of the rest, she loved to feel him stroking within her, to run her hands over his straining muscles and shaking body, and to hear his hoarse triumphant shout when he came.

They lay quietly for a few minutes, both of them stunned wordless. Scully felt a brief tremor of shyness, but it passed as Mulder ran a lazy hand over her side. It came to rest on her belly, and he looked at her, uncertain and concerned, his mouth starting to turn down.

She lay her hand on top of his, and he sighed deeply. He shifted, easing out of her, and lay his head against her arm. She bent her arm to cradle his head, and stroked the fine grey hairs that fell over his forehead. She rubbed her cheek against his head, and again he sighed, circling his palm against her stomach. He lifted his head, and whispered, "Close."

She closed her eyes obediently, and the last thing she felt before she drifted off was his tender kiss on her eyelids and his hand on her belly, circling and circling.

========= Nineteen =========

The carton of ice cream was empty except for a few meager scrapings at the bottom. Ben swirled his spoon to scoop them up, frowning when they barely filled the bowl. He ate the mouthful and crumpled the carton, and tossed it into the trash. He put the spoon into the dishwasher and pulled himself up to sit on the counter, and looked around the kitchen. Nothing sounded appetizing to him, not even popcorn. He supposed one in the morning was a little late for snacks, but he couldn't sleep and everything in his room bored him. He wished he could call Emma.

He was not surprised to see Scully come into the kitchen. "I thought I heard something," she said, sounding unsurprised too. "Hungry, Benjie?"

"Yeah—well, I don't know. Restless. And we're out of ice cream," he added, and was puzzled to see his mother blush as if he'd said something suggestive.

"My fault. I've been craving dairy products lately." She hauled herself carefully onto the counter beside him, and Ben noted absently that her feet didn't reach as far as his did. It had been a weird day when he'd realized he had to look down to see his mother, not up.

"Is Mulder still asleep?"

"Uh-huh. He sleeps like a log now. Darndest thing."

They both looked out the kitchen window at the dark and quiet back yard, and Ben said, "Jeff and Chris want to go camping the weekend of my birthday."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh. It wouldn't be just us, of course, Chris's parents will come too—you know how they like to camp and hike and stuff—and so will the girls," he finished, taking a deep breath at the reaction he expected.

"The girls."

"You know. Emma. Alyssa. And Jeff's been seeing this girl, Felicity, who's really nice and she's a lot of fun and he likes her a lot."

"I see. Chris's parents and the six of you, camping for a weekend."

"Yeah, like a last hurrah kind of thing. I mean, next year we'll all be off to college, and it'll be a nice way to end the summer."

"But Benjie, it's your first birthday with your father here and I'd like to do something special."

"I thought you would, and I have it all figured out. If we leave Friday afternoon and come back early Sunday, we can still do something actually on my birthday, the three of us—or four, if you want Emma to come."

"I'd love Emma to come. All right. I'll call RaeLynn in the morning and tell her it's okay with me."

"Thanks."

She swung her feet slightly and said, "Benjie. I want your thoughts on something."

"Sure."

"How would you feel about expanding the family?"

"Expanding? You mean like adopting a kid or something?"

"No." Her hair fell in front of her face as she looked down at her toes. "Not exactly."

"Are you and Mulder going to get married?"

There was a tiny pause, then she said, "No. That subject has not yet arisen, though I suppose it ought to."

"Couldn't hurt."

"All in good time, I suppose." She said after a moment, "I mean, how would you feel about the possibility of Mulder and me having another baby."

Ben stared at the pattern in the tile on the floor, then looked back up at his mother. "What?"

"I think I'm pregnant," Scully said, and Ben had a strange feeling of history repeating itself—that she had been this frightened, this worried, this hopeful, this brave, when she learned about him.

"But, isn't that, like, impossible?"

"Stranger things have happened, and they've happened to me. A particular one goes by the name of Benjamin William."

Ben rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't know what to say, or how to take this. It felt like good news but it was too weird to comprehend. Knowing they were having sex—which he'd kind of figured, but didn't want to think about, for a while—just gave him the shudders. Didn't people their age not want sex anymore?

"Aren't you too old to have a baby?" he blurted, then bit his lip.

Scully only smiled, though, and said, "Under normal circumstances, yes. But I don't think this was made possible by normal circumstances."

"You mean that whole thing with how I was conceived."

"Yes. That. It does make me wonder what might have been," she said, staring off at the darkness outside their window, and Ben had to wonder what might have been, too. Being a big brother, the oldest brother, being one of a group instead of the only.

"I won't know until I see my gynecologist next week if it's true or not," Scully went on. "Mulder guessed and I'm beginning to think he's right."

"Mulder? How would he know?"

Again she blushed, and smiled at her feet. "Oh . . . there are ways. You'll learn, in due time. Not for a long, long time, I hope."

Ben blushed a little himself and said, "If and when, Mom, you won't have to worry about grandchildren until I'm, like, thirty or something."

"That's a relief." She said seriously, "I just think you're too young right now. I remember, though, what it's like, being a teenager. I remember it all too clearly, thinking you're going to just burst from the hormones and the newness of everything. But I think you're not ready emotionally at sixteen, no matter how ready physically you may be."

"Whoa, whoa," Ben said, holding up his hands. "We've had the sex talk already, okay? I get it. Yes. Waiting. Understood. Message received."

"Yes, but that was when it was an abstraction. I just want to reinforce that you and Emma, no matter how much you care for each other and love each other, you're both still children. Okay?"

"I know."

"And since you're about to witness first hand what having a baby can be like I hope it'll encourage you to put it off until you're good and ready. Stable and established and emotionally prepared."

"Yeah," Ben said. There were times when he wanted Emma so badly it left him shaking and wild, but in the last four months they'd found other ways to stay satisfied. And kissing her left him higher than running ever had. He said, "Are you happy about this? I mean, having another baby, it's a good thing, right?"

Scully smiled, nodding slowly. "It's a good thing. When you reach this point in your life, Ben, you'll see, you'll understand what that need is like, to create something unique and miraculous and—and I don't know how to explain it. But yes. I am happy about this. If it's true it will be a wonderful thing."

"What does Mulder think?" He could hardly imagine what Mulder would make of this, though it seemed to him Mulder had been more careful and gentle with his mother than ever the last few days, and quietly happy in a whole new way.

"He's delighted. He wants it." She added quietly, "He always wanted it for us, a big family. One of the best compliments he ever gave me was 'I never saw you as a mother before.' That meant a lot, because I hadn't really, either—not in a real, 'this could happen someday with this man' kind of way." She smiled at him. "And your feelings, Benjie?"

"Hey, if it's what you two want, then cool. Okay. A little brother or a little sister, I think I can live with that." He added shyly, "Do you . . . feel anything yet?"

"Oh, it's far too early for that. The baby's about the size of a raspberry seed right now. I do feel a little different but it's the knowledge that's doing it right now, not anything physical." She slid off the counter. "I'm going back to bed. Don't stay up too late, okay?"

"Okay. Hey, Mom?"

She paused in the doorway and turned. "Yes, sweetie?"

"I hope it's true. I hope you're right."

She smiled. He loved making her smile like that. "Thanks. Good night. Love you."

"Love you," he answered, and realized as he watched her go that they still hadn't solved the ice cream problem.

^*^*^*^*^*

Scully gardened. She loved her garden. She loved to plant and weed and mulch. In early spring she loved to greet the first shy stems poking through the soil, and in late autumn she loved to watch the leaves turn colors and fall to the ground. She loved to think about bulbs sleeping all winter, safe and sheltered, and she loved the bright flowers and sweet fruit of summer.

It felt very metaphorical today. Beautiful and wondrous, like the first cherry blossoms in spring. Like an oak within an acorn, her baby slept inside her, waiting only for time to bloom. As the days passed she felt more and more certain of it, and the prospect, though it worried her—but it was her nature to worry—pleased her. A baby. Mulder's baby. A son or a daughter, a brother or sister for Ben. She knew what their friends would say, what her mother would say, but at the moment it hardly seemed to matter. Everyone would see that sometimes miracles could happen twice.

So she gardened, and she sang softly, "Inch by inch, row by row, gonna make my garden grow, all it takes is a rake and a hoe and a piece of fertile ground . . ." and she couldn't stop smiling. The sun was warm and the breeze was cool, and the soil was warm and damp beneath her fingers.

She usually wore a large straw hat when she worked outdoors to protect her skin, and she now sat back on her heels and fanned her face with the hat. Ben and Mulder had gone running earlier, and it felt strange, but nice, to have the house to herself. Perhaps when she finished weeding this patch she'd take a bubble bath, and have a leisurely lunch ready for them when they got back.

She had decided not to return to teaching in the fall. Mulder's mysterious fortune was more than enough to keep them comfortable, and though she suspected it came from years of Consortium embezzlement—one must have money to rule the world, after all—Mulder considered it his, and wanted to use to for his family. Sometimes when she couldn't sleep Scully would go to their bank's website and check their balance online, to be sure it was all still there—but it always was, and Mulder assured her that even if it wasn't he'd make sure they never went hungry. She always kissed him, long and hard, after he said things like that. She couldn't stop herself. In fact sometimes she wondered how she stopped kissing him at all.

But it had been a wise decision, after all, not to go back to work. She didn't want to teach with a new baby on the way. It would be hard enough to answer the questions of their friends and neighbors, she didn't want to deal with superiors and students, too. And if her pregnancy with Ben was any indication, it would be a good six or seven months until she could deal with an autopsy again.

Scully put down her trowel and pulled off her gloves, and stretched her arms high above her head. She didn't want to think about death. True, even with the Consortium gone the general level of weirdness in the world had not gone down, but it seemed to her there was less evil around. She'd been afraid, while she was expecting Ben, that she was bringing a child into a world that would fall apart at the slightest provocation, but so far her fears had proved groundless and the thought barely touched her now. She felt she was bringing a child into a safe place, a warm and loving place, a place where she or he was dearly wanted and fervently desired.

"You're a very lucky little thing," she said softly, placing her hand on her stomach. "I think you're getting a good family."

"Uh, hello?" someone called from by the gate, and she stood and went around the house.

"Walter," she said, smiling, pleased, and she went to the gate and unlatched it. "How good to see you."

Skinner smiled at her awkwardly. He looked out of place, she had to admit it, in his suit and wingtips here among the flowers. He had a manila folder in one hand, and he bent to quickly kiss her cheek.

"I knocked, but there wasn't an answer, but your car was here . . ."

"Mulder and Ben have gone running, and I've been poking at the weeds a bit. Would you like to come inside?"

"Please." He waited while she gathered up her tools and put them away, and followed her through the back door into the house. Scully poured them both glasses of ice water and he set the folder on the kitchen table and drank a few sips quietly. "How are you?" he said finally.

"Wonderful. You?"

"I'm all right."

"I've missed you," Scully said. "Ben's missed you too. And Mulder wants to see you. Your name has come up in our conversations quite a few times."

"Would he even know who I am?"

"He would. He's remembering more every day."

"I see," Skinner said. "Actually, it's Mulder that I came here to talk to you about today."

"I wondered. Is that what the folder is, there?"

He placed his hand on it and pushed it across the table towards her. "You know, in some of the smaller FBI branches and at some police stations Mulder is still listed as a missing person. It's been changed in the database but I still hear reports sometimes."

"So do I. People are so happy for me when I tell them he's been found."

"Uh-huh. I got this from a sheriff's office in Montana a few days ago."

"Did you tell them everything's all right? It seems for a while there every lost soul was supposed to be Mulder, whether they matched Mulder's description or not."

"Scully, they found a body."

The way he said it chilled her, and she said, forcing her voice to be light, "Well, obviously it's the wrong body."

"They ran a cast of the teeth against dental records in the missing persons database, and Mulder's came up as a match."

Scully put down her glass and looked at Skinner steadily. "What are you saying?" she said quietly. "Are you saying that the man I'm living with is not Mulder? Are you telling me that I've been fooled? That someone said, Let's make a fake Mulder and hand him over to Scully? Why would someone do that? What sense does it make?"

"Scully, nothing they did makes sense to me, so this really doesn't surprise me. But I do think it's entirely possible that the man you're living with is not Mulder, not the original Mulder, anyway, not our Mulder. He might be a clone. That might by why he had no memories when he was first found—it wasn't amnesia, he just had nothing to remember." When she didn't answer he pushed the folder closer to her. "Just look at these, okay? If I'm wrong tell me I'm full of shit and I'll be glad to hear it, but it looks right to me. I just don't want you to be burdened with this guy any longer than you have to be."

"I think you should leave," Scully said, looking him in the eyes, and he sighed.

"Just look at the reports, okay? Will you look at them?"

"I'll look at them."

Skinner nodded and stood. He pushed in his chair and leaned on it for a moment, gripping the back with both hands. "Scully. I didn't bring this here to hurt you. I swear the last thing I want to do is cause you pain."

"Goodbye, Walter," she said, and he nodded again and left.

Scully stared at the folder until her eyes misted, and she pressed her hands to them. No. No. It couldn't be true. Not now. This was a mistake, some terrible mistake, some yokel had gotten the results mixed up, she had her Mulder back—

She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes, took another deep breath and opened the folder. There were some photographs of the skeleton in its lonely grave—out in a field somewhere, it looked like—with string on stakes to show the dimensions of the dig. Whoever had buried this poor fellow had lain him on his side, his arms crossed and his legs drawn up. As far as she could see there were nothing else in the grave, not a scrap of fabric nor a personal piece of property to identify whoever this might be.

That's because they took him in his pajamas, she thought, and snapped the folder shut. No. "No," she whispered. They'd taken him at exactly the right moment—no gun, no badge, not even a pair of shoes that could be traced. They took him with nothing of his own but a pair of cotton pajama bottoms, which could be easily burned, the body dumped in the wilds of Montana—

"Dammit," she whispered, and began to cry.

When she'd collected herself again she opened the folder and flipped past the photographs, to read the reports. Some boys had been walking their dog, the dog started digging at the ground, they saw the bones and got their father, their father called the police . . . very mundane, she thought. The sheriff wrote she thought the grave was further exposed because of unusually high runoff the previous spring.

Originally it appeared to have been buried fairly deep. Then came the routine missing persons checks, a few possibilities here and there until the dental records came through on one Fox Mulder, missing for seventeen years, and the sheriff wrote this was consistent with the degree of decomposition—

Scully closed the folder again and tasted blood on her lips. She dabbed her lips with her fingers and they came away dotted with crimson. Bitten through.

Well, she thought. That's different.

She could picture it, that was the damning thing about it. They'd taken him out to the middle of nowhere after performing unspeakable acts on him, getting their revenge any way they knew how. Strip him of his clothes, his dignity, his happiness, his humanity, then kill him and leave him in a shallow grave. They'd do it. They'd done worse.

And somewhere along the way they'd created a copy and set him loose.

Why, she couldn't begin to guess, but it made a strange sort of sense too. He'd be one clone among hundreds, thousands, and she was just desperate enough, needy enough, to believe he was the real thing.

Scully raised her eyes to look outside and realized dimly that some time had passed, it was almost noon. Ben and—and him—they'd be home soon.

She stood up so quickly she knocked over the chair, and ran to her study. She put the folder into the top drawer of her desk, and locked it for the first time since she'd bought it, tucking the key into a box of paper clips. She had to find a way to separate the lies from the truth, but not now. Not until she'd had a chance to think, to observe Muld—him—more, to make an educated guess.

And until she knew for certain, Muld—he—would not know anything was different. It had to be that way.

She heard the garage door open. "Mom, we're home!"

"Hi," she called, hastily wiping her face. They'd worry if they saw tears. She licked her lips, wincing a little, and wiped them with a tissue.

"Scully? Sweetheart?" He appeared in the doorway to the study, smiling at her. A vee of sweat darkened the front of his t-shirt. "Did you have a good morning?"

"Yes," she said.

"Are you feeling okay?" The smile was starting to fade, and he came closer to her and put his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her forehead. "Do you need to lie down?"

"No. I'm okay."

"You're pale," he observed. His big hands gently rubbed her shoulder blades. "I think you should lie down for a while anyway, little mama. Doesn't a pre-lunch nap sound good? I may even join you."

"Oh. All right."

He frowned and kissed her forehead again. "And you're hot," he said. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I think I should lie down. You're right."

"I'm always right," he said, with a ghost of a laugh, and she managed to echo it. "I'm, um, going to take a shower, I think."

"All right." She went to the green couch and took the afghan off the back, and wrapped it around herself before lying down. He stood there a moment, watching her, obviously puzzled.

"All right," he repeated, and left the study, shutting the door. She heard him say, "Ben, your mother's not feeling well, I think we should let her rest a while," and Ben's soft reply.

Scully buried her face in her arms and helplessly began to weep.

("The Garden Song" is by John Denver.)

======= Twenty =======

Something was different about Scully, but Mulder couldn't figure out what or why. She'd hardly said a word to him since he and Ben had come home for running, and every time he caught her looking at him she'd quickly look away. Her eyes were red as if she'd been crying, but she wouldn't admit to anything being wrong.

Ben had been with his friends most of the day, so Mulder didn't think he'd noticed anything different. But something was different, Mulder thought, and for reasons he didn't understand it was directed only towards him.

Scully went to bed early, and Mulder went into her study and sat down on the leather couch. He picked up the afghan she'd slept under earlier that day and played with the tassels for a few minutes, puzzling. When they'd left the house that morning she'd been fine, she'd kissed him and said, "See you later, sweetheart." And when they came back she didn't kiss him, she acted as if she couldn't even look at him. She hadn't wanted to talk with him or tell stories or anything.

"What happened, angel?" he whispered, and buried his face in the wool of the afghan. It smelled like her, like lemon and baby powder and freshly turned soil.

With the afghan wrapped around his shoulders, Mulder got up and pulled his favorite photo albums from the bookcase. He set them on Scully's desk and opened the one on top. This one was mostly pictures of Ben when he was a baby: red and squalling right after birth, in a white lawn gown for his baptism, naked in a plastic baby-bathtub, dressed up as a tiny jack-o-lantern for his first Halloween. He was a handsome, smiling baby, and Mulder touched the photographs gently, imagining what it would feel like to caress warm soft baby-skin and to hold the strong wriggling body in his arms.

Scully was in very few of these pictures, and Mulder guessed she'd been the photographer most of the time. But in the pictures someone else had taken Scully was always smiling, her face joyful, her eyes full of love for this little boy.

It might be the baby, Mulder thought, but why? She was so happy about it just a few days ago—just yesterday, even. What happened today?

He thought, If something happened, even if she's not pregnant after all, she'd tell me, wouldn't she?

He sighed and closed the photo album, and opened another. This one was smaller, with fewer pictures than any other, because it was mostly pictures of the two of them. Many of the pictures had been taken at crime scenes: they were in black-and-white, many other people were often milling about, and it was rare that either he or Scully were looking at the camera.

His favorite of these rather grim pictures seemed like the beginning, or even the end, of a story. In the picture they were outdoors—trees were blurry in the distance—and Scully's head was lowered, but her eyes were raised to look up at him as his hand tenderly cupped her cheek. Every time Mulder looked at this picture he wondered if he hugged her next, or let her go, if she had cried or smiled. He was smiling faintly in the picture, but even at the poor angle the photographer had you could see the concern on his face.

Mulder stared at the picture a long time, studying it. Often he'd spend time looking at himself, trying to spur on any memories that might come from looking at his younger self. But this time he looked at Scully. Her shoulders were slumped as if in weariness or discouragement. She was leaning towards him a little, as if about to step into his embrace, and her head was tilted to the side, as if nuzzling the hand on her cheek.

Mulder eased the photograph out of its sleeve and turned it over. The spiky handwriting on the back read, "Scully&me, March 22, 1997, outside Tacoma WA. Case solved." Beneath it, in rounder neater handwriting, it said, "This case was hard—most of them were—and Mulder was worried it might be too much for me. I was still doing chemo and there were many times he wanted to send me home to rest. I wouldn't let him, but I nearly collapsed when it was all over. About five minutes after this picture was taken Mulder nearly carried me to the car."

Mulder turned the picture over again and tenderly kissed Scully's face, and put the picture back in its sleeve. He took out more of these crime-scene photographs and read his own short notes about the where and when, and Scully's longer ones of what she remembered.

Those, he thought, must have been written much later, for Ben's sake.

Near the end of the collection the pictures became more personal, pictures taken by a lover of the beloved. Scully laughing and threatening the camera with a can of whipped cream, or asleep and bare-shouldered in a tousled bed; or himself, mockingly striking muscle-man poses in jeans or sticking out his tongue as he was interrupted in trying to shave. He particularly liked one of himself proudly holding a pine tree that was as tall as he was, on the back of which Scully had noted, "Our first Christmas Together, 1999" and below it, "My dearest, why didn't I take more pictures of you?" with a tear stain blurring the ink.

Mulder put all the pictures away and closed the album, and leaned his chin on the stack. The pictures had no answers for him—they were a record of love and longing and tender regret, but they told him nothing he didn't already know.

He put the albums away and sat down at the desk again. Scully had a calendar in her blotter, and the only event she'd written in for all of August was "Ben's birthday" on the 13th.

Ben's birthday. He'd be seventeen. One more year and he'd be an adult, living on his own somewhere, going to college, away from his parents and their protection. He might even be in another country—he'd sent for information about Oxford, tentatively considering his father's old school. Scully didn't want him so far away, of course, but they could certainly afford to fly him home at every vacation or go visit him in England themselves.

Mulder had been thinking for days of what to get Ben for his birthday. He wanted it to be something special, something spectacular, something no one else had given him. But what, though? Ben's needs were already filled, from his guitar to his computer to his bike, and though Mulder often scribbled down ideas nothing seemed to stick.

But he had an idea now, something that would tell Ben of their trust in him and their approval of his growing independence. Mulder started to pull open the top desk drawer, to write down this fabulous idea before it flitted away, but the drawer stuck. He tugged again and still the drawer stayed shut. He bent to look at it and jiggled it a little, and he finally noticed that the lock was turned.

Odd. Scully had never locked her desk before.

The vague sense of dread that had been receding while he looked at the photo albums returned with renewed force, and he sat back in the chair, eyes wide. The secret, the explanation, was in that locked drawer, he was certain of it. And it had to be something terrible if Scully felt she should lock it away. Usually the key was in the catchall tray at the front of the drawer, so he had no idea where else she might put it now. The top of her desk was neat and tidy, as usual: pens in their cup, laptop computer closed and set to the side, clock and lamp and framed pictures free of dust. He opened the unlocked drawers and looked through them quickly: bills filed as paid or unpaid, records of Ben's shots and grades and childhood injuries, her own records, several folders of information about her long search.

But no key. No hint of what she felt she had to hide.

I want to understand, Scully, he thought. I want to understand why you're afraid of me.

His head ached with worry but he dreaded going upstairs. How would he bear it if she turned him away? How would he sleep without a soft, warm Scully in his arms? How would he face his nightmares without Scully to kiss them away?

Of course she hadn't turned him away yet. He turned off the lights and made sure the doors were locked, and went upstairs to their bedroom. She'd left the light on in the bathroom but the room was otherwise dark. Mulder undressed and brushed his teeth, and carefully climbed into bed beside her.

She was lying on her side, facing away from him. Her breathing was deep and even, and she barely stirred when he got into bed. He lay on his back for a few minutes then turned onto his side and lay his arm over her, spooning against her back.

"Mulder, I'm not in the mood right now."

Her words were like a slap to the face, but he only said, "I'm just holding you, Scully."

She sighed, but didn't move.

Mulder said quietly, "You haven't had much to say today."

"No, I haven't."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine."

He rubbed her stomach a little, and felt her stiffen. He stopped moving his hand. "Scully?" he whispered.

"What, Mulder."

He could barely get the words out, he was so close to tears. "You sleep well, okay?" he whispered, and pulled his arm away and turned onto his back again. And Scully stayed facing away from him.

^*^*^*^*^*

When Mulder heard Scully get up in the morning he stayed where he was, lying on his side. He listened to her move around, his eyes open wide, and hardly dared to breathe until she got into the shower. Usually in the mornings she would wake him up, and he would make breakfast while she and Ben got ready for the day. They'd eat breakfast together, and she would leave him with a kiss before taking Ben to school. And now that she was no longer working she'd come home quickly and they'd have the entire day to do whatever they liked: cooking, shopping, reading, talking, making love.

She didn't even talk to him this morning. He squeezed his eyes shut when she came out of the bathroom, and he sensed her stand beside the bedside for a minute. Her hand briefly touched his hair, and then she sighed and left the room quickly.

He heard Scully knock on Ben's door. "Ben? Honey? Are you awake?"

Ben's reply was muffled, and then Mulder heard, "Where's Mulder?"

"He's still asleep. Let him rest."

"Is he okay?"

"He's okay." They went downstairs.

Mulder lay still until he heard the car drive away, and then he sat up and hugged his knees. Why wouldn't she even talk to him, just kiss him good morning?

He hadn't slept all night, and his head still ached. He rubbed his temples, trying to think. He used to make his living trying to figure things out, why couldn't he do it anymore?

Think, Mulder, think. Where would she hide a key?

Well, her keychain was an obvious place. But obvious was wrong, Scully was never obvious.

The change between them had happened quickly, so whatever she had done, she had done it quickly too. Quickly enough so that she still smelled like the outdoors when she wrapped herself up in the afghan.

She'd been in the study. Whatever she'd hidden was in the study desk. So the key had to be in the study as well.

But he'd looked there already.

Well, he'd have to look again.

Mulder rose from the bed, wincing as the throbbing in his head increased with the movement, and went downstairs to Scully's study. He tried to imagine her—angry, upset, wanting to hide whatever had caused this pain—

He stepped to the desk. "She'd take the key from the tray . . . put whatever it is in the drawer . . . " He looked over the desk top again, still neat and straight, and pulled open the side drawer. ". . .  and put the key away . . . into something . . . " He looked through the folders again, looking for an extra weight that paper couldn't give, and then sat down and sighed. He was right, he knew he was right, why was he missing it?

There was a box of ballpoint pens in the drawer. He shook the pens out onto the blotter, and then scooped them back into the box, disappointed. A box of pencils was next, and then a box of microcassettes. Nothing.

"Damn," Mulder whispered. He wanted to tear the room apart to find that damned key. He yanked at the drawer, yanked and pulled and tugged, and finally shoved at the desk and fell back in the chair, frustrated and near tears.

"Mulder?"

Mulder spun in the chair, to see Scully standing in the doorway. She licked her lips and took a step towards him.

"I-I wanted a pen."

Silently she came to him, and handed him one of the pens from the cup on the desk. He held it between the thumb and forefinger of both hands, and said quietly, "Thank you." She only nodded, and turned to leave again. He said, "Scully?" and she paused.

"Yes?"

"You go to the doctor today, don't you?"

"Yes." She ran her hand slowly up and down the door frame.

"Do you want me to come with you? I want to come with you."

"I know you do . . . but I don't think you should."

Mulder nodded, his throat closing, and he whispered, "Scully?"

"What, Mulder."

"What did I do?"

She turned around to look at him. "What?"

"What did I do to make you hate me?"

She looked at him a moment, and then she came back to him and put her hand gently on his neck. "Mulder," she said quietly. "Mulder."

"I must have done something. Tell me what I did."  He looked up at her, his vision blurring.

"You didn't do anything, Mulder," she said, and stroked his neck a time or two. "You never did anything to deserve all this pain."

He closed his eyes for a moment, glad of her simple touch, and then grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her stomach. Scully gasped and pushed on him shoulders a moment, and then stopped and wrapped her arms around his head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry."  She kissed his hair and pulled herself from his gasp, whispered, "I'm sorry," once more and left the study as if she couldn't bear him another moment.

Mulder leaned his elbows on the desk and covered his face with his hands. No, no, it couldn't be this way, he couldn't lose her like this. Not when only the day before she'd loved him so much. Their lives together, their family, their baby—was it the baby? It had to be. It had to be something about the baby. He couldn't see what else would upset her so much. Maybe she could feel that something was wrong with the baby, or she was afraid, or . . .

He could hardly breathe as he thought it. Maybe she didn't want to have the baby after all.

He pushed himself back from the desk and slowly stood, and went to find Scully. He finally saw her out in the back yard, sitting in the swing, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them, her face pressed against her knees.  He watched her for several minutes, and then resolutely opened the back door and went outside.

Scully looked up as he approached and let down her legs, and wiped her face with her palms. She watched him as he knelt down on the grass, but made no move to touch him.

Mulder said carefully, "I want to tell you something."

Scully nodded. He wanted to kiss her sweet face until all the pain disappeared. He said, "I don't ever want you to do something you don't want to do because you think it will please me. Okay?"

"Mulder, I wouldn't . . ."

"You have to decide what's right, Scully. It's not for me to tell you."

She closed her eyes and lowered her head, and said quietly, "I'm going to Montana for a few days."

"Montana? Why is that?"

"I have to see something. I have to find something out for myself. I don't think you should come."

"All right. But let me come with you to the doctor, Scully. I want to be there. Please." He placed his hands on her knees, and she gently put her hands on top of them.

"I may make decisions you won't like, Mulder."

"Let me be there. Please. I won't argue with any decisions you make, I promise, just let me be there."

She stroked his hands lightly with her thumbs, and whispered, "Mulder, I'm afraid."

"Just don't shut me out, Scully, please, don't stop talking to me. Please. I can't—I don't want to—there's no point in me being without you."

"There's no point in me being without you, either," she whispered, and her hands gripped his tightly. "Come with me. Come with me to the doctor. I need you to hold my hand, Mulder. I need you with me."

He nodded, relieved, and bent his head to kiss her hands. He knew there was more, and they'd need to talk about it soon, but for now this was enough. This was enough for today.

=========== Twenty-one ===========

Earlier that day as Scully drove Ben to school, he let a few blocks in silence and then said, "So what's going on between you and Mulder?"

"Nothing's going on."

"You hardly said a word to him last night."

"I wasn't feeling well last night."

Ben tapped his fingers on his knee for a moment, then said, "I hate it when you treat me like I'm oblivious. Something's up and I want to know what it is." He said, when she didn't answer, "Is something wrong with the baby?"

"We won't know that until I go to the doctor today."

"So it's not the baby." Again she didn't answer, and he said, "Dammit, Mom, what are you hiding?"

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, Benjamin."

"You've always told me everything."

"I haven't told you everything any more than you've told me everything. Some secrets are just better kept," she added, looking out at the road.

"So you're keeping a secret."

"For now."

"Have you told Mulder?'

"Not yet."

"Are you going to?"

"I don't know."

Ben looked out the window and said quietly, "But you will tell us, won't you? I mean, you wouldn't keep something important from us, would you?"

"I suppose I'll have to, at some point. Just not yet, Benjie, okay? Not yet. I can't yet."

They drove in silence until they reached the school parking lot, and then Ben said, "Mom, if something's wrong with the baby, you'll tell us, won't you?"

"I wouldn't hide something like that."

They looked at each other for a moment, then Ben leaned over and kissed her cheek, and quickly got out of the car. He walked rapidly into the school without looking back.

He felt nervous in his stomach, the same sickening feeling you get when you realize you're about to witness a car crash. It was a dreadful feeling, and he wished he could go home and talk to his folks until they told him what was going on.

Though he suspected Mulder was just as confused as he was.

What a terrible time for his family to fall apart, just as they were starting to make sense to each other. Mulder acted more and more like a father, and felt more like a friend, every day. His mother seemed so happy, so content, until this mysterious Bad Thing occurred. She'd seemed pleased about the baby, quietly pleased.

Ben wasn't sure how he felt about that development, either. It was exciting, it was scary, it worried him—and he wanted to tell Emma about it so badly he wondered if he'd just blurt it out when he saw her.

He went to the library where they usually met in the mornings, and when he saw Emma sitting at their table he paused for a moment, looking at her. She was reading and making notes, her mouth pursed in concentration.

He sighed, and wondered if this tenderness and affection he felt was the same feeling Mulder had about Scully. He went to the table, approaching her from the side, and slid into the chair beside her. "Hey."

She looked up, and her smile quickly became a look of concern. "Hey. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm—can we go outside? I want to talk."

"Sure." She packed up her books and notebooks quickly into her backpack and they left the library. They walked slowly down the hall, and Ben took her hand. She squeezed it, looking into his face. "What is it?"

"Did you know—could you tell, before your mom left, that they were having problems?"

"Of course, they fought all the time and when they weren't fighting they didn't say a word to each other. Why?" She stopped walking and gripped his hand tightly. "Your parents aren't fighting, are they?"

"They're not talking, which is just as bad. And my mom admitted to me that she's keeping a secret from us, that she can't tell us, and—and—I—I'm not used to my mom keeping secrets from me."

"But Ben, they're so—"

"I know. And now they're not. I don't get it and I don't like it. Oh, God," he whispered, "Emma, what if he wants to leave? What if she wants him to go?"

"On Friday they seemed fine. They were holding hands and grinning at each other just like normal."

"Yesterday morning they were fine. And then Mulder and I went running, and when we came back it was like—everything was different. She couldn't even look at him."

"Are you sure they didn't fight?"

"I don't know when they could have. I didn't hear any yelling and Mulder never gets mad, and certainly not at my mom."

"I don't know what to tell you, Benjie. I don't know if there's anything I could say to help."

"It's okay." He leaned over and kissed her. "It's just so good to tell you. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you to tell things."

She was about to answer when the bell rang over their heads. She sighed and reluctantly let him go. "We'll talk more in study hall, okay?"

"Okay. I love you," he said, and she smiled.

"I love you too," she said, and ran up the stairs to get to her class.

^*^*^*^*^*

Ben managed to make it through the rest of the day, barely. His class schedule was pretty easy—it was his senior year, he wanted to indulge himself—but still it was nearly impossible to sit through his classes when all he wanted was to go home and see if he still had a family. When he turned once more to look at the clock his English teacher said, "Do you have somewhere more important to be, Mr. Scully?" and Ben scowled at him, thinking, You can't even imagine.

His last class of the day was gym, and he pushed himself hard, running so fast he thought his lungs would burst. He threw himself onto the grass and lay there, panting the hot August sun.

Jeff jogged up and plopped down onto the grass. "Trying to kill yourself, Benjie? It's a million degrees out here."

"I'm just running. Two laps like coach wanted."

"Whatever." Jeff lay down on the grass. "You excited for next weekend?"

"What about next weekend?"

Jeff sat up again and stared at Ben. "Hello? Next weekend? Your birthday, our last summer huzzah? What planet are you on?"

"Planet Earth, last I checked, what do they call it in your neighborhood?" He sighed. "Things are just weird at home, okay?"

"Ahh. When aren't they weird at home? It explains you, though."

Ben shoved him, and Jeff shoved him back, laughing. "Hey. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Really. It seems like something's always going on with you. Your mom's gone or your godfathers are in a crisis or your Mystery Dad is here. You have a dramatic life. It's hard to keep up."

"Sorry. There, um, there might not be a camping trip."

"Ben! No camping trip? Why the hell not?"

"I don't think I should leave my folks. They might need me."

"For what?"

"Moral support? I don't know. I'll tell everybody the camping trip's on hold for now."

"Until this crisis is over?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Jeffy."

"Hey, it's okay. It wouldn't be you if you weren't in a crisis."

Their gym teacher ambled over. "Are you boys ready to join the class?"

"Sorry, Coach." Jeff jumped to his feet.

"Can I have a minute, Coach?" Ben said.

"Feeling sick, Ben?"

The coach was standing with his back to the sun, and Ben had to squint to see him. "Any chance of me leaving early today?"

"Do you have a note from your parents?"

"No."

"Then there's no chance, Ben."

Ben sighed and got reluctantly to his feet. "It was worth a try."

"Come on, boys, let's work off some aggression." He put his arms around both their shoulders and they walked over to the other side of the field, to join the rest of the class.

^*^*^*^*^*^

"So," Ben said when Emma pulled into his driveway.

"So."

"Do you want to come be part of the Scully family drama?"

"Do you want me to be there?" she asked tenderly.

He sighed. "I don't know . . . I just don't want you to get embarrassed."

"I don't want you to face it alone."

"And what if it's nothing? What if it's—what's if everything's fine?"

"I don't know, Benjie. I don't know what to do."

He sighed again, looking up at his house, and opened the car door. "Thanks for driving me home. I think I should do this alone. I'll call you."

"Okay. It doesn't matter when, Ben, just call me."

Ben nodded. "I will. You're perfect, you know that?"

Emma touched his hand and said, "Call me and tell me everything."

Ben got out of the car and shut the door, then opened it again and leaned in. "She might be pregnant. That's part of the reason why this is so bad."

"Oh—Ben—is that—that's good, isn't it?"

"I don't know. But it's part of why this scares me." He shut the car door again, and slowly climbed the front steps to go into his house.

It took him a few minutes to find his mother. She was sitting at her desk in the study, an unopened photo album in her lap. She stared unseeing out the window.

"Mom?" he said, and she jumped, her hand flying to her chest.

"Benjie! You startled me."

"Sorry." He came closer and leaned against her desk. "So what's the news?"

"I am pregnant," she said quietly, and Ben smiled despite himself. "Rebecca thinks it looks good, everything looks fine. We took some samples for testing, chromosomal testing, but she doesn't think I need hormone therapy or anything they usually do with pregnant women my age. Just prenatal vitamins and lots of milk, she said." She smiled tightly.

"Well, good. That's good, isn't it? That she thinks it's okay?"

His mother nodded, running her hands up and down the sides of the photo album.

"So what will the chromosome tests say?"

"They'll tell us the baby's sex, for one thing. Anything abnormal. Down's syndrome, for instance."

"Is that a risk?"

"There are hundred of risks, Benjie."

"So what are the odds?"

"I don't know the odds. You know," she mused, "when I was pregnant with you I used to have these dreams—which everyone told me was normal, especially with the first one—that I'd give birth to something inhuman. I had these tests done then, too. And even though they said everything was normal I was still afraid."

Ben said softly, "And if the baby's not normal?"

"That will depend on how abnormal the baby is. If it seems the baby will not survive outside the womb . . . I don't know," she said in an honest, painful way that made Ben's heart ache. "I don't know what to do. We'll just have to wait and see."

"Oh, Mom," he said.

She nodded in acknowledgement, still caressing the photo album. It was her special album, her realized, it was the one with pictures of her and Mulder before he was born, that she had just begun to add new pictures to recently. And he realized too what was missing here, who should also be in this room.

"Where's Mulder?"

"He's not here."

"I can see that, but where is he?"

"Not here means not here, Ben. I don't know where he is." She took a deep breath, visibly steadying herself. "On the way home from Dr.Forstrom's we stopped at the park to talk, and at the conclusions of our conversation he walked away. I waited, but he didn't come back. So I came home."

"He just walked away?"

"Without looking back."

"What did you say to him?" Ben said, and winced at the way her eyes flared at him.

"What did I—" She stopped herself and said shortly, "I didn't tell him to leave, if that's what you're thinking."

"There has to be a reason that he'd just up and leave."

"Ben, sit down. I have a story to tell you."

^*^*^*^*^

Mulder was elated when they left the doctor's office. "Did you hear that? Isn't it wonderful? She thinks it's okay. She thinks you're fine. Scully, I'm so happy, I'm so glad."

"Uh-huh," Scully said, and Mulder stopped and held her chin gently in his fingers.

"Scully. Come on. Tell me you don't feel better now. Aren't you even a little relieved?"

"A little." She lowered her head while another couple passed them, and said, "Could we talk about this someplace else?"

"Where do you want to go? Should we go home?"

"No—no, let's go to the park. I want to be outside."

"Sure," he said, his face concerned and worried, and he held her hand as long as he could.

The park was quiet. It was too hot for runners. There were a few people reading or napping in the shade and by the fountains, but otherwise Mulder and Scully could almost have been alone.

They walked slowly, holding hands, and Scully could feel him trembling. She said quietly, "Mulder, tell me something. Tell me the first thing you remember. The very first thing."

He thought about it for a while, and said, "The first thing, the very first thing, is waking up in a bright, bare room. I can't move, and I'm hungry and thirsty and alone and scared, and I don't know where I am or who to leave. That's the first thing I remember. I remember being afraid."

Scully closed her eyes for a moment, touched by the pain in his voice. He went on softly, "Everything after that is fuzzy for a long time. I remember some people who were very gentle with me. And then I remember Alex, how he took care of me. And then the hospital where they helped me, and then . . . you know the rest."

"The first people you were with, Mulder, did they tell you anything? Do you remember?"

He shook his head. "They may have talked to me but I don't remember anything they said. It's like remembering a dream."

They walked on for a while, and she said, "When did you start remembering me?"

"You were always there, Scully."

"I was?"

"Even when I wasn't sure who you were, I knew you. I always had my angel."

"Mulder. Mulder. Are you sure? Before you saw me in the asylum, you remembered me?"

"Yes. I'm sure. I remembered the way you look and the sound of your voice, and the way it felt when you touched me. Even when they told me you weren't real, that I'd only dreamed you, I believed in you." He looked at her as they walked, and said, "Why? What is it?"

Scully stopped walking and leaned against him, her cheek against his chest. He looked like Mulder. He sounded like Mulder. He even smelled like Mulder. Surely that meant something. Surely they couldn't copy his scent, the rumble in his voice, the absorbing way that he kissed her.

She hated being full of doubts like this. She'd felt it, through every cell of her body, that this man was her Mulder from the first moment she touched him in the dark asylum cell—but if that instinct could be fooled, who knew what else she'd been wrong about over the years.

Mulder put his arms around her and held her close, and started to stroke her hair. "Are you still scared?"

"Not as much. I'll feel better once the test results are back."

He nodded slowly, still stroking her hair. "Scully? What are you looking for, with the tests?"

"Just abnormalities."

"Even with me?"

"Even with you."

He swallowed hard, his hand pausing. "Do you think there might be something wrong with me?"

"I don't know."

His head bent over hers, and she felt his lips on her hair. "Scully," he whispered. "How come you didn't do all this before? Have tests run on me and everything?"

"Because it hadn't occurred to me before that I might need to," she said quietly. "I just want to be sure I'm giving birth to a healthy child."

"And if you're not?" His voice was raw with pain. "If the baby's not healthy, Scully, what are you going to do?"

She pressed her face against his chest, her eyes closed and her hand on his sides. "We keep talking around this. I don't want an abortion." She felt him sigh with relief, and pressed her trembling lips together. "So I don't have an answer, really. I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know what I should do."

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"Yes."

"I think you're forgetting that I'm here with you," he said slowly. "I think you're forgetting that I'm going to help you as much as I can. And I think you're forgetting that I'm worried, too."

"No," Scully whispered, "I'm not forgetting any of that."

He raised her face and kissed her forehead, and chastely, her lips. "You sounded so lonely just now, Scully. Don't be lonely."

"Mulder . . ." She felt ridiculously close to tears, and concentrated for a moment or two on just inhaling and exhaling.Lonely. That summed it up.

She looked up at him and said, "I still need to go to Montana.There's something there that I have to figure out."

"Okay. When will you be home?"

"I'll leave Wednesday and be back Friday or Saturday. It depends on what I find."

"What are you looking for?"

She had to tell him. It felt wrong to hide it. Ben had been so upset, she couldn't imagine what Mulder must be feeling now. He was so patient with her. Sometimes she felt it was more than she deserved.

"Mulder," she said, "on Sunday Walter Skinner brought me a file that he'd gotten from a sheriff in Montana. They found a skeleton in the woods, and when they ran the dental cast of the skeleton through the missing persons database, it matched with you."

His stroking hand stilled, and he said, "Scully. Scully. What are you saying?"

"I have to go to Montana to find out who the body really belongs to."

Mulder let go of her and stepped back a pace. "Scully." He had that look she knew, his lips turned down and his eyes dark with misery. "Scully. That body—it's not true. I'm Fox Mulder." He pounded his chest with his open palm. "I am Fox Mulder!"

"Yes, Mulder, my dear, yes, you are, you are Mulder—but this body— I have to solve this. I have to find out why it matched with you."

He wiped his eyes savagely with the back of his hand. "Scully," he said. "Is this why you want the tests with the baby? You think I'm one of those things—"

"I don't—oh, Mulder, I don't know what to think." She stepped towards him, reaching out to him. He looked at her outstretched hands as if her touch would burn. "Please, Mulder. I'm just trying to find out the truth."

"And what if the truth is he's Mulder, not me?"

"Then—then we'll figure something out."

"You want to get rid of me."

"No, never."

"Then why is there any doubt in your mind? If you really think I'm me and not him you wouldn't go."

"I have to know," she whispered. "I have to be sure."

He closed his eyes, breathing in shuddery gasps. "I knew you," he said, his voice rough. "From the first moment I knew anything, I knew who you were. You were the only thing I had to cling to, the only thing I knew for certain. And now you tell me it's a lie, that my own memories are actually someone else's, that I'm not me? Scully, what does it mean? Who am I, if I'm not Fox Mulder?"

"I don't know," she said. "I don't understand it, I've never understood any of it. I don't know why you were taken away from me in the first place. I don't know why they'd create a clone and kill him—"

"Or hand him over to you," he said bitterly, and she lowered her head and allowed her arms to drop.

"Or that, either."

He stood there in the path, breathing hard and his hands clenching and unclenching, and he said, "Scully, tell me something: do you love me for who you think I was or for who I am?"

"I just love you, Mulder. Who you are and who you were. I love all the parts that make up you."

"And if that body is the real Mulder?"

"I don't know what's going to happen," she whispered, and bit back a sob when he turned and walked away from her as rapidly as he could go.

=========== Twenty-two ===========

Ben took the car and drove around the park and the neighborhood until sunset. He was about to go home, feeling defeated and powerless, when he passed by the waterfalls where he and Mulder usually stopped to recover from their runs. They'd been there just a few days before, sharing a bottle of Gatorade and talking about the colleges he was considering, and how tempted he was to go wherever Emma went. "If that school offers you what you want," Mulder had said, "then go. Emma's being there will only be a plus. But if it's not where you really want to be, you may resent her for it, over time."

Ben kicked his shoe against the paved path. Mulder had been a dad that day, a real dad, not a kid who needed looking after or a stranger to be watched over. More and more Mulder was like how Ben had imagined having a dad would be, and now this—

"Fuck this," he said, and jumped when a soft voice said, "Your mother doesn't like it when you swear."

"Mulder?" He squinted in the soft twilight, and saw him, sitting on one of the stones at the top of the falls. His pants were rolled up and his shoes were set aside, and he waved to Ben in a small, embarrassed gesture. Ben waved back, and said, "Have you been here all day?"

"No."

Ben looked at him a minute more, then took off his shoes, rolled up his jeans and climbed to the top of the falls and joined Mulder on the stone. It was only four feet or so off the ground, and then the creek meandered off to the little kids' portion of the park, with the petting zoo and the swing sets and the bridge where Scully had taught him to play Pooh Sticks when he was four.

"So," he said.

"So."

Ben pulled on his shoelaces and said, "Mom's worried about you."

"Did she have dinner?"

"She made scrambled eggs and cheese. She ate a little of it."

Mulder nodded wearily. "She needs the protein."

They both listened to the rushing water and Ben said, "The park closes at sunset. We're not supposed to be here."

"That's an easy rule to get around."

Ben closed his eyes and opened them, and said, "So are you leaving us, then? Is that what this is?"

"I don't want to go."

"Mom doesn't want you to leave. I don't, either."

"Did she tell you?" Mulder looked at him for the first time since Ben had joined him on the rock. "Did she tell you what's going on? Did she tell you the whole story?"

"She told me."

"I may not even be human. How's that for good news. Having this baby may kill her. She hasn't said so to me but I know she's thinking it.She's afraid. She's right to be afraid," he added softly, and Ben put his hand on his back.

"She doesn't want you to leave," he said again, and felt a shudder go through Mulder.

"I don't want to leave. I don't. But if it's best for her and for you—I don't know, Benjie, I don't know what to do."

"Come home," Ben said, and Mulder shook his head.

"No. I can't. Not yet. I—"

"Oh, don't make this a matter of pride," Ben said, and Mulder closed his eyes. "It's where you want to be, it's where you're wanted—she wants you home."

"It's not about pride."

"Bullshit."

Mulder sighed. "All I've wanted, for as long as I can remember, is a place where I feel safe. If I'm not safe there I'm not safe anywhere."

"What does this have to do with safety?"

"If I'm not Mulder, what happens to me?" he said passionately. "Where do I go? What do I have? I'll have nothing. No family, no history, no joy of any kind. What's the point of me even being alive if I'm not Mulder?"

"I don't think Mom would just kick you out."

Mulder hunched up as if he'd been struck, and said, "Maybe, but she wouldn't love me anymore so it wouldn't matter anyway. I may as well go back to the asylum or something, where they take care of you but you don't really matter to them."

"You matter," Ben said, and Mulder looked at him intently again. "You matter to everybody."

"Do I matter to you?'

"Of course you do. You're my father."

"What if I'm not?"

Ben felt like he was about to cry, and he said quietly, "What's a father, anyway? It's just biology. You're my dad, and that's what matters."

Mulder closed his eyes again, and then leaned against Ben a little and put his head on his shoulder. "Okay," he said. "Okay. I can live with that."

"Will you come home now?"

"Soon." There was a long pause, and they both just listened to the waterfall and the soft sounds of the neighborhood at night. Mulder said, "I'm so tired."

"I'm not surprised, being out in the sun all day."

"I wasn't out here all day. Most of it. A lot of it. My head is killing me."

"I have the car. Come home with me."

The sigh Mulder gave was heavy and long. "All right," he said, his voice barely audible. "All right."

^*^*^*^*^*

Scully began to cry when she saw Mulder get out of the car, which surprised all three of them. She had been waiting on the front steps, wondering and worrying, and got to her feet when the car pulled up. She went to Mulder and paused for a moment, uncertain, and the sorrow in his face deepened.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and she threw herself into his arms. He caught her, stumbling a little, and held her tight, one hand in her hair and the other clasping her waist, and she pressed her face against his chest and clung to him.

Ben shuffled his feet for a moment, then said, "I'll be inside," and went into the house so quickly the door slammed behind him. Scully blessed his sense of timing and tried to get a hold of herself, to calm her tears and slow her breathing.

Finally she looked up and cupped Mulder's face in her hands. She whispered, "I'm sorry, Mulder, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said. "Don't cry." Still holding her, he drew her to front steps. They sat down carefully, with Scully on the top step and Mulder between her legs on a lower one. For a few moments they sat in silence, watching the neighborhood descend into twilight, and then Mulder sighed and leaned against her.

"I shouldn't have walked away like that."

"I didn't want to tell you. I knew how much it would hurt you. Maybe I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's good that you did. If I'm not the real Mulder—" He paused and cleared his throat. "I don't want to endanger you and the children. Ever."

"Oh, Mulder," she whispered, and kissed his soft hair.

"What are we going to do, Scully?" he said quietly. "What are we going to do?"

"I know what I want to do," she said, just as quietly. "I know what I'm tempted to do. I'm tempted to forget it, to send back the papers and tell them they've got the wrong person, to just go on with our lives." Her hand raked through his hair restlessly.

Mulder thought about this a long time, then said, "No."

"I know."

"Isn't the truth what we've always wanted? Even if it's uncomfortable or inconvenient? It's not right to ignore it." He nuzzled her arm a little. "Even if it would be easier."

"So what do you think we should do?"

Again he thought about it, and said, "I want you to go to Montana and I want you to look at the body. And I want you to tell me the truth when you come home."

Scully took in a deep breath and let it out. "All right."

"And we'll make whatever decisions are necessary about the baby when that time comes, too."

"I don't see that there are really any decisions to be made. I want this baby. I don't care what it does to me. If it's deformed, if it's mentally deficient, whatever, I don't care. We're going to love this baby and take care of it and give it the best of everything."

"I don't want the baby to suffer," Mulder said, lowering his head.

"I don't, either."

"But if it's not normal, Scully—"

"I'm not going to give up on this child, Mulder."

Very slowly, he nodded. "All right."

Again they watched the evening darken around them, and Scully said quietly, "When I was pregnant with Ben I used to have dreams. Very vivid dreams about what might be growing inside me. My baby ripping its way out of my stomach . . ." She paused and he looked up at her, his head still in the circle of her arm. His thumb brushed lightly over the faded denim over her knee.  "Things like that. It was so strange, me being pregnant when I knew—I knew, I had proof—that I couldn't conceive. It frightened me. I couldn't understand why it had happened. I mean, we'd talked about having a baby but we knew it was going to be expensive and arduous and there would be risks and frustrations. And then for me to just be pregnant . . . it was like a miracle. At the time I wasn't terribly open to miracles."

He placed his hand lightly on her stomach, and then leaned into her and kissed her belly. Scully gave a small gasp, which made the corner of his mouth quirk in a tiny smile. "This is a miracle," he said. "This stuns me. Our own little baby . . ." He looked up at her, an intensity in his eyes that made her shiver. "We'll take good care of her, Scully, no matter what happens. She won't suffer for anything."

"She?" Scully whispered. "You think it's a girl?"

He blushed and said, "Yes. A little girl with your blue eyes. She told me."

"Oh, she did."

"Yes. She whispers to me."

"What else has she told you?" Scully said, smiling at his game. He slipped his arms around her and moved closer, and planted another kiss on her belly.

"She tells me not to worry," he whispered, and leaned his head against her stomach. "She tells me how happy and warm she is inside you. She tells me to not be afraid." He looked up at her again. "What does she tell you?"

"Mulder, she doesn't—"

"Shh. Just listen."

Scully closed her eyes and tried to focus herself. She couldn't help but feel a little silly, listening to a mute and muffled fetus as if it actually could speak to her—

She gasped and her eyes flew open, and Mulder smiled at her. "There.You heard something, didn't you?"

"I'm not sure—Mulder, it was like a laugh, a little girl's laugh— I'm imagining things."

"Maybe," he said, and leaned his head against her stomach again. She combed her fingers through his hair, wondering at him, and he said, "That feels awfully good, Scully. My head's been hurting."

"My poor sweetheart. Do you want to lie down?"

"Not yet. Will you rub my head some more?"

"Of course." She rubbed his head with both hands, at the bumps of his skull behind his ears and where his spinal column joined his head, his temples and the points of his jaw. His head was hot as if he were running a fever. "How long has your head been hurting you?"

"Since yesterday."

"Did you eat anything today?"

"Yeah. I went to Mama's CafÃƒÂ© on Green and had a bagel sandwich. They were surprised I was there alone, usually Ben comes with me."

"Do you feel nauseous?"

"No. I don't think it's a migraine. It just hurts."

"Where?"

"Everywhere. Deep."

"What do you mean?"

"Like it's . . ." He touched his temple. "Not that it's here, on the surface. Like it's inside. Deep inside."

Scully frowned. "Mulder, the brain has no nerves. It can't feel pain."

"I don't know how else to explain it to you. It's deep inside. That's what it feels like."

"Maybe we should take you to a hospital. It might be an aneurysm or a stroke."

"I feel okay everywhere else. It's only my head that hurts. Well, and my feet hurt a little from the walking."

"Poor baby," she whispered, and kissed him again, gently. She continued rubbing his head, and he sighed in contentment.

"Tell me a story."

She smiled at the familiar request. "What kind of story?"

"Tell me about the first time you told me you loved me. Or told Mulder," he added in a whisper, and she kissed his hair.

"Sh. Enough of that. I'll tell you the story and then I want you to go to bed, okay?"

"Okay."

She took a few minutes, rubbing his scalp and putting her thoughts together. She began softly, "It took me almost a year to answer you. The problem was, I didn't think you meant it the first time you said it—I thought you were dopey from pain and painkillers . . . well, anyway, I didn't think you meant it. You know that part of it." Under her hands he nodded. "As the year went by I kept getting the sense from you that there was a lot still unspoken between us, and that you were waiting for me to make up my mind. Or come to my senses. A little of both.

"And then our confrontation occurred. I was told you'd been kidnapped, I was told you'd been killed, I was told you'd killed yourself. I was told a thousand lies. And when I found you . . . Oh, Mulder, when I found you . . ."

"You cried," Mulder whispered. "You cried."

"I cried," she confirmed softly. "And after the fighting and the destruction and all of that—and after our first kiss—" He chuckled and she smiled at the sound. "We were on our way home. Some of our allies had a military convoy truck. You and I and a few others were riding in the back. You were asleep in my arms. We were out West somewhere, Idaho or something, and it was very cold. It was early October or so. We'd been given these big army surplus coats, and I'd spread one over you as a blanket. Your head was right about where it is now, right against my breast, and I could see your face in the moonlight. It was very quiet, except for the wind. Everyone was asleep, I think, except the driver and me.

"And I was watching you and thinking about what we'd just gone through, and I kept getting distracted by the shadow of your eyelashes on your cheeks." He chuckled again. "I started thinking about all the things you'd done for me, all the times you'd comforted me, even all the times you'd make me angry and then tried to make up for it in your own peculiar way. And I thought about how much I loved looking at you. I used to daydream about you so much. I used to fantasize about what it would like to kiss you and make love with you . . . and everything. Live with you. Be your lover, not just your friend. And I thought, it's about so much more than love between us, but love is the only word we've got for it. And I thought, he deserves to know.

"So I bent my head, just like this, and I whispered it, very softly, into your ear like this, 'I love you.'" A deep shiver passed through Mulder and she remained with her head bent, and whispered, "And then you shocked the hell out of me by stirring a little and saying, 'Your secret is safe with me,' without even opening your eyes."

Mulder laughed outright this time, and Scully paused in rubbing his scalp to kiss him again. "Of course I didn't feel I should let on that I'd expected you to be asleep, so I just said, 'All right,' and eventually you went back to sleep. And eventually so did I."

"That's sweet," Mulder whispered.

"I've always thought so. It was a lot like us. Not conventional, but suitable for you and me. In the morning when I woke up, you'd spread the coat over both of us and you were holding me and watching me.When you saw I was awake you smiled the biggest smile I'd ever seen you use, and you said, 'Good morning, and I love you too.' I kissed you and you held me, and we just lay there and watched the world go by as we were driven home. We really didn't talk about it until we got to my apartment later on and decided we really did want to be together. And I got better at saying I love you."

"That's a good story," Mulder said wistfully.

"It's a true story. Best kind. Now, I want you to go to bed, Mulder. Day-long headaches worry me."

He got reluctantly to his feet and helped her to hers, and said, his hands on her shoulders, "Will you hold me tonight, Scully?" with a painful look in his eyes that melted Scully's heart.

"Of course I will," she said, and kissed him.

============= Twenty-three =============

Even though he'd told her to go, that he wanted her to go, Mulder didn't want to let Scully out of his arms when her flight was called.It seemed like she was going very far away for a terribly long time.He kissed her again and again until she was blushing.

"Promise you'll be back Saturday," he said.

"I'll be back Saturday. Early on Saturday, in fact. We'll talk when I get back, okay?" She looked up at him and held his face between his hands. "I have to go. They're not going to hold the plane for me."

"Call me?"

"I'll call every night. I love you." She stood up on her toes to kiss him, and then went to Ben and hugged him tight, too. "Be good. And I love you."

"Love you," Ben said. He wasn't smiling—he looked more troubled than anything else. But he just waited back with Mulder while they watched Scully go up the concourse onto the plane. "Well," he said, once she was out of sight, "back to school for me, I guess."

"Just drop me off at home. I have the house key."

"Are you sure?"

"The car's no use to me." They both drifted to the large window overlooking the runway, watching the technicians work around the plane. The last of the luggage was brought on board, signals were given by light and by flag. Mulder sighed. Take good care of my girls, he thought.

"We could go out to breakfast or something," Ben was saying.

"You need to get to school."

"'Need' is a relative term."

Mulder smiled at him. He was tempted to have Ben stay with him, but Scully would want him to go to school. "You can stay home if you'll work on applications today," he said, and Ben groaned.

"All right, all right, I'll go to school." Neither of them moved away from the window. They watched as the technicians coaxed the plane away from the airport and the plane awkwardly rolled out onto the runway. Clumsy things, airplanes, Mulder thought, until they leave the ground.

He kept his eyes on the plane that would carry Scully away. She hated flying, he knew that, and still she was willing to get on any plane and let it take her where she needed to be. She trusted them to get here there safely. Amazing—he wasn't so sure he could get in one himself.

They both breathed sighs of relief when Scully's plane took off safely, and Mulder smiled at Ben again. "She'll call."

"I know."

"She's going to be just fine."

"I know. Should we go?"

"Yes." He looked longingly at the speck Scully's plane had become, and then started back towards the lot where they'd left the car, Ben falling into step beside him.

"You know, I'd be happy to teach you to drive," Ben said as they were waiting at the toll booths.

"It's all right."

"You'd be more independent."

"It's okay, Ben. I like walking."

Ben shrugged and rolled down the window to pay the toll booth clerk.

Mulder watched the highway as they passed by, leaning his chin on his hand. He was frightened by the days to come, of the crushing loneliness for Scully he already felt, of what knowledge she would bring home.He wanted to crawl into bed and not move until she came home—and then only if she came home with good news.

Oh, God, he thought, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples, what will I do if I'm not Mulder?

"Mulder? Are you okay?"

He lifted his head from his hands and looked out the window again.

"I'm okay. My head hurts."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Your head hurt yesterday too."

"And the day before. It's nothing." He rubbed his forehead, sighing."I'll take a nap later."

Ben sighed, looking unconvinced, and just continued driving.

When Ben was safely off to school and he was home alone, Mulder wandered around the house a bit. There was hardly an object in the house that Scully hadn't chosen, that didn't speak of her tastes and preferences. The house even smelled like her, a faint scent of honey and vanilla.

He had felt too poorly to make love with her the night before but he suddenly wished they had nonetheless.  He wished he had left some mark on her to remind her that it was his body she craved, his kisses that made her moan and tremble, his child that grew within her body.

She had believed he was Fox Mulder before, surely she could again no matter what she discovered about the body in Montana.

He went into her study, wanting to look at their pictures again, when his attention fell on her desk again. He tried the top drawer, and it was still locked. He opened the other drawers and took out everything he hadn't tried before: boxes of ballpoint pens, blank floppy disk labels, paperclips, staples. He opened each one and went through them, and finally found the key in the box of paper clips.

For a long time he just sat at the desk, holding the key. If she'd taken the file with her she would have left the drawer unlocked. The file was still here, and it might tell him something, anything.

He unlocked the drawer, put the key aside. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing his eyes. He opened the drawer and felt out the folder, took it out of the drawer and opened his eyes.

He opened the folder, and gasped at the first photograph. The skeleton looked vulnerable, fragile. Lonely. He touched the black-and-white outline of the bones and felt tears come into his eyes. What a terrible way to die, alone and frightened, surrounded by strangers and with a gun to your head. He must have been terrified.

Hastily Mulder turned the picture over and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Typed reports followed on the next pages, and he read these as best he could, running his finger along the lines and his lips moving in concentration. He didn't know all the words but he knew enough to understand.

Dental cast. Decomposition. Shallow grave. Nothing to identify the body but the body itself, and the story the body told made his heart ache. A man in his late thirties had died in a field of a gunshot would to the head. There were broken bones in his hands, in his legs and feet. He had suffered, this man, and had gone unmourned for seventeen years. And every means they had of identifying the body indicated that it was that of Fox Mulder.

He is me, Mulder thought, and covered his face with his hand.

^*^*^*^*^*

Ben didn't know what he'd find when he came home. Mulder curled up in a corner, maybe. "Mulder?" he called quietly as he shut the front door.

"In here," Mulder said just as softly, and Ben went into the study.

Mulder was on the couch, a file folder open in his lap. "How was school?"

"It was okay. Has Mom called yet?"

"Not yet."

Ben took off his backpack and let it slide to the floor. "How are you?"

"Oh. Fine. I've been sitting here feeling sorry for myself but I think I'm over that now."

"Sorry for&#8212;why?"

"I've been letting go of my life. It's all going to be taken away from me anyway," Mulder said matter-of-factly. "You. Scully. Our baby. Even if she lets me stay it won't be the same. We won't be a family anymore. It'll be you and her, and me, the stranger. And who knows what the baby will be."

"Don't you think," Ben said slowly, "that if the baby was—something else? Something dangerous? That Mom would know, that she'd feel it."

"Maybe it would be better if she doesn't have the baby at all."

"Don't say that!" Ben exclaimed, and Mulder leaned his head in his hands. "Don't say that. Mom wants this baby and so do you, I know you do. Don't say things like that."

"Ben." Mulder looked up at him, still holding his head. "That body in Montana is your father, not me. I'm sure of it. Look at this." He held out the folder, and Ben took it and sat down on the floor. He looked through the papers, skimming over the reports, and grimaced when he saw the photographs.

"So it's a body."

"It's Fox Mulder's body."

"I don't believe that. I don't believe it for a second. If Mom had any doubts about who you are—"

"She didn't know about this before. It was enough to make her doubt. It's enough to make me doubt."

"Don't you think you're jumping to conclusions? There could be any number of reasons why this body was identified as Mulder—it could have been a mistake—"

"Ben." Ben shut his mouth and looked down at the papers in his hands, frowning. "It's over. We're not a family. We're a cruel joke. We're one last laugh for a bunch of dead evil men."

"I refuse to accept that," Ben said, and something in Mulder's eyes sparked. "I refuse to believe that all of this is a lie."

"A lie," Mulder said. "A trick. A joke."

"No. She believes in you."

"Not anymore."

"She loves you."

"She loves Mulder."

"Why would you remember her if you weren't Mulder? Everything that you've remembered, everything that's come back to you—I refuse to believe that's a lie."

"They could have implanted those memories in me. You know they're capable."

"No," Ben said. "No."

"When your mother calls I don't want to talk to her. I don't think she'll want to talk to me, but when she calls tell her—tell her anything."

"I'm not going to lie to her," Ben said and wiped his eyes with his forearm. "You weren't here. I was. I saw what it was like for her. You think she can just turn her back on you? That's bullshit. So if you want to tell her you've given up you can do it your own damn self."

Mulder raised his eyes to look at him and said, "All right. I will."

^*^*^*^*^*^

Scully put her notes in one neat pile and the photographs in another. It had taken most of the day to get to this small farming town, and she already felt exhausted and frustrated and lonely. She hadn't had a chance to look at the body yet, but the sheriff had been kind enough to give her another copy of the reports and photographs.

She moved from the table to the bed and made herself comfortable, taking the phone from the night table. For a moment she sat there quietly, the phone on her knee and her hand on her stomach. She whispered, "Are you okay in there, little baby?" It was real to her now, and she felt she'd gone throughout the day with the gravity of pregnancy upon her. No coffee, I'm pregnant. No aspirin, I'm pregnant. Eat plenty of protein, drink lots of milk, I'm pregnant. Get plenty of rest, I'm pregnant.

And even though she was afraid for this child&#8212;and for herself, she could admit that&#8212;she was thrilled, too. A baby, a real baby, a pregnancy that was causing her no more problems than some fatigue and heartburn&#8212;it seemed too good to be true. It seemed like a blessing.

It seemed like a miracle.

She sighed and patted her tummy a few times, and then dialed the number for home. It rang a few more times than she thought it should, and she counted the time zones once again. It was only ten in Virginia, Ben was usually awake and Mulder probably would be. She was about to hang up and dial again when the ringing cut off abruptly and Ben said, "'Lo?"

"Hi, sweetie. It's me."

"Hey, Mom."

"Are you okay, sweetie? You sound tired."

"I'm okay. I miss you."

"I miss you too. How was school?"

"Okay. It was okay. Do you want to talk to Mulder?"

Scully didn't answer for a moment. He'd never been so abrupt with her. Something must be really wrong. "Yes," she said. "Let me talk to Mulder. I love you, Benjie."

"Love you. Here's Mulder." She heard him hand off the phone, and his voice faintly in the background: "Take it, damn it." Her hand crept to her stomach as she listened to the phone rub against fabric and Ben insist again, "Take it. Talk to her."

She could hear him breathe but he said nothing. She said, "Mulder," and he heaved a long sigh. "Mulder. I miss you."

"Why?"

The question threw her. "W-why? Because I love you."

"I don't think that's true."

"Mulder!"

"I think you're in love with a memory, that's what I think. I think you wanted him back so badly you were willing to accept me as a substitute even though you weren't sure. And I think you're not going to look at that body as closely as you should so you can believe you really have him back."

"Mulder . . ." Her eyes stung. Her throat closed. She whispered, "Mulder, don't say those things. It's not true."

"When you come home, I'll be gone. I think that's best for everybody. And I think you should abort the baby. I think that's best too."

"No," she whispered. "You know how I feel about that. I want to have this baby. I want to be with you."

"Why? I'm not Mulder."

"Yes, you are. You are. You're the best of Mulder, you're everything that made me love him in the first place, the sweetness and the gentleness and the tenderness and the empathy. I love you, I need you, I want you with me and I want our children, Mulder. I want our little girl."

"I don't want to live a lie."

"It's not a lie. What about your memories, Mulder? You've remembered so much, things no one would know but you."

"You believed it wasn't me when Skinner first brought you the folder. Despite my memories."

"That was wrong of me, Mulder, but I was so upset. I couldn't believe that someone would do this kind of thing, after all these years. But I will figure this out, Mulder, and I believe you are who we think you are, that you are Fox Mulder, that you always have been."

"I looked at the folder," he said, and his voice broke. "I looked at the pictures. I read the reports.  If that body isn't Mulder, who is it?"

"Who are you, if you're not Mulder?" she said tenderly.

"I'm nobody. I'm nothing. I'm a byproduct, a mistake."

"You're the man I love," she said, and she heard him sob. "Mulder. Love. My sweet love. I refuse to believe you're a mistake, and I refuse to believe you were given to me as some kind of joke. I love you so much. I love you. Don't give up, Mulder, don't give up on us and our family. Please. I love you so much."

He cried quietly into the phone, and she whispered to him as soothingly as she could until he stopped. He whispered, "I love you too, angel. Come home soon."

"I will. You'd better be there to meet me, Mulder."

"I will. I won't go anywhere."

"Sleep well, and dream of me."

"I will. They'll be sweet dreams. Good night."

Scully slowly hung up the phone after Mulder did, and she lay on the bed for a while and tried to breathe slowly and calmly.  She put her hands on her stomach again, and closed her eyes, concentrating. She thought, Give me something, little baby, give me anything to let me know you're okay.

There was no epiphany, though, no flash of light or disembodied voice. She sighed— it was nice to dream but this was what she'd really expected—and got up to get ready for bed. She'd just have to wait until the test results came back, which she'd known in her heart would be the case.

She was in her pajamas and brushing her teeth when she heard a knock on the door. She spat out the toothpaste and wiped her mouth, pulled on a bathrobe and went to answer it.

And she gasped and gripped the doorframe when she saw who stood there.

"Hey, Scully," Krycek said. "Can I talk to you?"

============ Twenty-four ============

"Come in," Scully said when she'd recovered her composure, and she stepped aside to let Krycek into the hotel room. He had grown a short beard since she saw him last, which made him look even more rakish and dangerous. He smiled sheepishly when he saw what she was wearing.

"Sorry. I didn't think you'd be going to bed already."

"I'm still on Virginia time, and it's been a long day."

"You look good, though," Krycek said, and his shoulders shifted uncomfortable under his jacket. "You look . . . radiant."

"I'm pregnant," Scully said, which had the effect she'd thought it would have: his eyes widened and for a moment he just stood there with his mouth open.

"Wow. Well. Congratulations . . . but I guess that makes this latest development really complicated."

"In a word. What brings you to Montana?"

"You," he said, sitting down at the table.

"Ah," Said Scully, belting her robe tighter.

"Don't panic, it's not like that. Sit down, please. Let's talk."

Scully sat down opposite him at the table. This man still made her uncomfortable, despite all the time they'd spent together the previous spring. Still, she'd chosen to trust him before and she felt she could do it again. "How much do you know about all this?"

"I know there was a clone."

Scully leaned her head on her hand and looked at him. She hadn't thought he would be so blunt. Or so honest.

He went on slowly, "It was created to take Mulder's place during the colonization. They felt having a Mulder they could control would facilitate things with people who believed in his cause."

"How so?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I guess having a familiar face telling you everything is okay works better than a stranger telling you so."

"But his friends would know it wasn't him. I would know."

"It was taught about Mulder, his life and his family and his work. And you. It was in love with you."

Scully lowered her eyes. What a strange admission. "How can that be?"

"It was taught to. It was taught that it was Mulder, with differences. The real Mulder would have detected them, and eventually so would everyone else, but the theory was by the time everyone realized they had a fake Mulder it would be too late."

"But in essence, he knew everything that Mulder knew."

"In essence. Yes."

"Do you know what happened to him?"

"No. I always assumed it was destroyed about the time the colonization failed. Truth is, now I'm not so sure you even brought the real Mulder home, that the reason it was taken was because it was the clone."

Scully inhaled sharply. "Don't-don't say that—don't even think it—"

"I'm sorry," he said, genuine concern in his eyes, and he reached across the table to take her hand in both of his. "I'm sorry. It's just a theory. I don't know why they took him, and when I heard about this I thought, hey, maybe . . . I'm sorry."

She had nothing to say to this. She only looked down at their joined hands, and puzzled over what it was about this sight that struck her as strange. Just a man. Just two pairs of hands.

She said softly, "He."

"What?"

"He. You keep saying 'it.' He was a man, Krycek. Or is a man.Whoever he is, this body deserves justice as much as anybody else, and I intend to discover what happened."

"Scully," he said gently, "I never thought they'd give me the clone Mulder to take care of—unless they didn't know he was the clone. I wish I could just hand over the answers, but . . . I only know what I know. If it makes you feel any better, our Mulder, your Mulder, he bleeds red."

She nodded, still looking at their hands. She'd seen Mulder's blood. Just a few weeks ago he'd cut his finger slicing vegetables and she'd sucked his finger until the bleeding stopped. Not that she'd tell Krycek this, of course. Krycek had nice hands, really. Not as sensual as Mulder's, but strong—

She looked up at him quickly and yanked back the left sleeve. He said nothing, didn't even jerk away, as she ran her fingers over warm, real skin and the dark hair that sprinkled his arm.

She looked up at him again and said, "You lost this. I know you did.Mulder told me about it, Skinner told me about it, when I went to that hospital in Tennessee the doctor mentioned you only had one arm. It happened while you were in Siberia."

"Yes," Krycek said, his eyes holding her steadily.

"What the hell is going on? Are you a clone too?"

"No." He grinned a little. "No. It's all me."

"Then how—this isn't possible."

"Nothing's impossible. Only improbable." He winked at her and she dropped his hand.

"I don't know what to think of all this. How do you grow back a limb?"

"With help. A lot of help. And time. Mostly time."

She studied him a moment more, and picked up his hand again. She inspected it carefully this time, from fingernails to wrist. It looked perfectly normal, with lines and freckles and scars. She said slowly, "The people who helped you—"

"Don't assume they were people," he said.

"What were they, then? Reticulans?"

He actually chuckled, still not pulling his hand from her grasp. "You're so damn funny, Scully. It's a pity more people don't know that."

"This is important, damn it. Could they help Mulder? Could they do anything to help us find out who he really is?"

"I don't know. Rebuilding a limb, that's easy by comparison, you know, to brain surgery."

"I don't even want to think about surgery. Just . . . I don't know. There's got to be something we can do."

"The body might tell you something."

Scully sighed, feeling defeated already. "That body is going to be exactly like Mulder in every respect. DNA, blood type, dental cast. If every test I perform says that he's Mulder, and every test I perform on my Mulder says that he's Mulder, I'm not going to know anything more than I do now. "

"There is the baby. And there is Ben."

Scully lowered her head wearily. "Ben is so normal. I've always wondered how. I expected him to be—anything but what he is." She put her hand on her stomach and whispered, "After everything that happened to Mulder and to me, maybe Ben is so normal because his father wasn't the real Mulder."

"Scully, come on now."

"How's that for an extreme possibility?"

"A little too extreme for my taste. What are you going to do if he's not Mulder?"

She'd been asking herself that for several days now, and said quietly, "I don't know. Maybe I won't tell him. Maybe I'll tell him he is the real Mulder whether he is or not."

"Really? Why?

"Krycek—I love him. It's as simple as that."

"Wow," Krycek whispered. "That's—wow. I don't know if I could be that forgiving."

"It's not his fault, you know," Scully said gently. "Whatever I may feel about all this, he doesn't deserve to be kicked out of his home or taken away from his family. He deserves love as much as anybody else, and it's my—my desire, really, to give it to him."

Krycek listened to her with an incredulous expression, and then said, "Wow. I know there was a reason I liked you. Good night, Scully." He stood up from the table and started for the door.

"Hey!" She turned in her chair. "Are you going to keep doing this? Appearing and disappearing?"

"Like magic," Krycek said, waving his fingers, and he opened the door and left.

Scully locked the door after him and then looked out the window through the blinds. The parking lot was quiet—if Krycek had driven here he'd parked out of sight. She felt sorry for him in a way, for the lonely, nomadic life that he led. She couldn't imagine living on the run, trusting nothing, loving no one. She pitied him, she thought, much the same way she pitied the remains that awaited her attention in the county morgue.

She sighed and let the blinds fall closed. She got into bed and turned out the light, and grasped one of her pillows tightly to her chest. It wasn't Mulder, but it would have to do.

^*^*^*^*^*

The thing about pain, Mulder thought, is that you get to a point where you think it can't get any worse—and it does—and you think you can't bear it—but you do.

He lay perfectly still in bed, the sheets cocooned around him. Light, movement, sound—everything made the throbbing in his head worsen. Even with his eyes closed he saw explosions of color against his eyelids, pulsing in time to the pain.

When he'd been homeless he'd had headaches like this, but he'd always thought it was from being cold and hungry and exposed. And now as he remembered it, a bad hallucination usually came right after a headache likes this. He'd never made the connection before but it made sense to him now.

I should tell Scully, he thought. She'll know what to do.

Ben knocked on the door and Mulder lifted his head enough to say "Come in," and let it fall, exhausted even by that small effort.

"Hey, I'm about ready to leave—are you okay?" Ben came into the room and sat down on the bed.

"No. It hurts."

"Your head? Still?"

"Still. Hurts a lot."

"Do you want me to stay with you? If you're this sick you probably shouldn't be alone."

"Scully wouldn't like that."

"Mom wouldn't like you suffering by yourself, either."

"Ben." Even the dim light of the bedroom made his eyes water. "Go to school. I just need to rest."

Ben sighed and said, "All right, but is there anything you need before I go?"

Mulder cracked an eyelid at him and said, "Water would be great. And something for the pain."

"Okay." Ben stood. "Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"

"No." Speaking hurt less than shaking his head. "I don't think I could keep it down."

"Right." Ben left, leaving the door open. In a few minutes he came back with a glass of ice water and a large pitcher of more, which he set down carefully on the nightstand. He brought out a bottle of ibuprofen from the bathroom and shook out two pills, and Mulder sat up long enough to take them with a few sips of water.

"Go to school," he mumbled as he burrowed beneath the covers again."I'll be okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"All right. I'll leave Jeff's cell phone number by the phone, if you need anything call him and he'll get me, okay?"

"Okay."

"Mom'll have my head if anything happens to you."

"No, she won't, and nothing she's going to happen. Go. Have a good day."

"Yeah," Ben said reluctantly, and left again, this time closing the door.

Mulder listened to him leave and to the silence that followed, and willed himself to relax. Let the medicine do its work, he thought, and took deep breaths from the bottom of his lungs, letting them out slowly. Thinking about it only makes it worse. Relax. Breathe. Think about Scully.

That did bring a tiny bit of a smile, and he eased his face against the pillow that still smelled of her. Scully. Warm, pretty, trusting Scully. Scully who kissed him with her eyes open, Scully who slept curled up on top of him, Scully who laughed at his jokes, Scully who'd risked her life for him again and again, Scully who crept into bed beside him and whispered, Don't be lonely, Mulder, don't be frightened, my dear . . .

—her lips were warm and soft, trailing over his chest, and she reaches up to run her hands through his hair and nuzzle his face, and she whispers I love you, I love you so much, and he spans her waist with his hands and whispers I love you, kiss me, and she kisses him, her breasts crushed against his chest and her tongue deep in his mouth, and she stops it only long enough to whisper in his ear, I'm so wet for you and she takes his hand and presses it  between her legs and he moans, he moans, wanting to be there in this warm wet welcoming place deep inside her—

—he's shaking with nervousness, so eager, so hungry for this woman he's been desiring for so long, he can barely unbutton her blouse, and she finally puts her hands on top of his and says, Let me, and deftly unbuttons her blouse beneath his hands and finally she's naked, glorious and beautiful, her breasts are rosy pink and creamy and all he can do is stare reverently, yes he's seen them but this is the first time she's made herself naked for him, they're alone and safe and as soon as he remembers to move again he's going to touch them, he's going to kiss them, and she says in her dry wonderful way, Any day now, Mulder, and he laughs and sweeps her into his arms and kisses her, kisses her again and again and cups her breasts in his hands and finally slides his mouth down her neck and her shoulders and her breasts and when he gently takes one nipple between his lips she moans and thrusts her hands into his hair, her back arching—

—they're sitting in a meeting and the room is dark while the agent in charge shows slides of the case in question, and her hand suddenly and lightly touches his knee and it's all he can do to keep from gasping, and when he glances at her she's got a quiet "I win" smile, so he gently touches her knee back and the smile flees, replaced by a flush and her eyelids lowering, and when the meeting is finally finally over they walk demurely to the elevator, wait quietly through the ride, don't look at each other, don't speak, don't touch, walk down the hall to the office, go into the office, shut the door, lock the door, and she's on him, her legs wrapped around his waist and her tongue demanding entrance to his mouth, and he stumbles against the wall to lean her against something solid and when he reaches beneath her skirt, she's been wearing skirts now nearly all the time and he loves it, easy access, when he reaches beneath her skirt he's delirious with joy to find that above her stockings there's nothing but warm moist Scully and he slips a few fingers into her before he even realizes it and she moans into his mouth Ahh yes fuck me—

—she sleeps, peaceful, and he watches her, peaceful himself, gently stroking the soft bright hair at her neck and thinking Thank God, Thank God, and he wants to kiss the marks on her face away while she sleeps but when she wakes he's in his own bed on the other side of the room and he smiles at her and teases her about their freezer burn, and she smiles a little and gets up from the hospital bed and goes to him, takes his hands in hers and says, Thank you, Mulder and he says What for? as if he didn't know and she says seriously For my life and she kisses him on the forehead and leans hers against his for a moment, and when she pulls her hands from his and gets back into bed to sleep some more, to heal, he realizes too late that he should have taken that chance, she was offering but he was too afraid, he was always too afraid—

—he's terrified, scared shitless, and the ache in his head from the gunshot wound is killing him and his ass hurts from the fall down the shaft but he has to find Scully, Scully is here in this nightmlare she's in one of the pods oh God please help me find her don't die on me Scully you can never die please never die and he sees her, her mouth frozen in horror and drowning in green goo and he pounds the ice desperate please Scully please and the glass and ice break and the goo rushes out and he gets out the antidote and the needle please please work please and she's gagging, he pulls out the cord that would have nourished the alien fetus and she breathes, she breathes, and she whispers, Cold—

—he's cold—

—the men whisper, We've gone too far, we can't reverse it—

—he kisses Scully deeply and says I'll be right back, let's read the comics in bed and she stretches and purrs Hurry back and he grins at her and pulls on pajamas and goes to the door, and the paper's right there like always and he picks it up and hears the footsteps but doesn't think about them until they stop and he looks up and realizes his luck has run out forever and he wants to shout Scully run away! but they don't give him time to say anything, they have him, they're dragging him away and he knows he's never going to see Scully again, they're going to kill him and he has no way to defend himself, he's in his bare feet even, his feet are cold—

—he's cold—

—he's so cold—

============ Twenty-five ============

Ben sat in a hard plastic chair in the E.R. waiting room. There was a TV on at the other side of the room, two talking heads nattering on about celebrity faux pas and astronomical findings.

News, Ben thought. Must be six.

He craned his neck around the partition that separated the waiting room from the E.R. itself, but as far as he could tell nothing had changed. There was a line of people at the admittance desk, there were nurses and technicians hurrying around importantly, there was a woman weeping and rocking back and forth. She saw Ben looking at her, and he pulled back quickly, embarrassed by her grief.

He'd never felt so alone before. He felt very young. He wanted someone to tell him what was going on. He wanted his mother.

He leaned his head on his hands and his elbows on his thighs. If he called the hotel again they might tell him if she'd checked out.Everyone he'd called was out—Emma was tutoring, the guys were away from their apartments, Skinner answered neither his office nor his home, his grandmother was in California. He wanted somebody, anybody, someone to sit beside him and tell him he could stop being strong.

He sensed someone approach him and he looked up, hoping it was a nurse or a doctor. It wasn't, but it was almost as good: Emma, along with her father and sister. She looked like an angel in this crowded, noisy place, and he stood up and she wrapped him up in her arms.

"It's okay, Benjie," she whispered. "It's okay." All he could do was hold her, his head on her shoulder. "I got your message when I came home," she said softly, stroking his face. "Dad came &#8216;cause he hopes he can be some help."

"Thanks, Mr. Hicks," Ben said thickly, and the older man nodded. Zoe's eyes were very big and she was holding her father's hand, and her other hand crept into Ben's. He smiled at her and squeezed it. "Thanks for coming too, Squirt," he said, and she giggled shyly.

"What happened?" Mr. Hicks said, as they all sat down in the plastic chairs.

"I came home school—and he'd been feeling bad when I left, so I thought I'd look in on him—I'd hoped that he'd call. And, um, when I opened the door he was on the floor. He looked like he'd tried to walk but fell. He was all crumpled up. I knelt down next to him and he was cold, and&#8212;and—at first I thought he was dead." Zoe and Emma both squeezed his hands, and he had to take a minute to find his voice enough to go on. "And then I, um, I picked up his head a little and he jerked and his arm flailed out, and he said, um, he said—" Ben could barely squeeze the words out past the lump in his throat. "He said, &#8216;Don't hurt me anymore.' He didn't even know me. He didn't know who I was. All he would say was &#8216;Don't hurt me anymore.'" Mr. Hicks quietly handed him a packet of tissues and Ben blew his nose.  "I got him into the car and brought him here. I wrapped him up but he wouldn't stop shaking and he was so cold. They're doing tests, I guess. They haven't asked me many questions. I'm so scared and I can't reach my mom and—" He started crying hard, and Emma pulled him to her again, wrapping him up in her strong arms.

"I'll go see what I can find out for you," Mr. Hicks said softly, rising from the chair. "Zoe, honey, will you get us some sodas? Here's some change."

"Sure, Daddy," she said just as softly, and briefly touched Ben's shoulder before she hurried off.

After a few minutes Ben lifted his head and self-consciously wiped his face. "Sorry."

"For what?" She stroked his face and smoothed back his hair.

"I should have warned you about this possibility before you got involved with me."

"You did warn me," she said, smiling. "Remember? You said, and I quote, &#8216;I don't want to bother you with my weird family.' Lucky you it's not that easy to scare me off."

"I am lucky," he said, weaving his fingers between hers.

"Damn straight you are." She stroked their joined hands with her free one. "Why can't you reach your mom?"

"She must be doing the autopsy now. She gave me the number for the hotel but I don't know what to ask for to find where she's at. She might be at a morgue or a hospital or a sheriff's office . . . I just don't know. I have to wait for her to get back to the hotel."

"How soon can she be back?"

"I don't know. Probably not until tomorrow morning, early." He sighed heavily, leaning his head against her shoulder. "I called the guys and I called Walter, but they're all out, and Grandma is visiting my uncle Charlie."

"Shh," Emma said softly, stroking his face again. "You're getting upset. It'll be okay. It will."

"I don't get what's happening to him. He was fine a couple days ago and now everything's coming down on him—it's too much, Em. It's too much."

"Benjie," she said softly. "Shh."

"What if he dies?" Ben whispered, and started to cry again. "Now with the baby and everything—oh, I don't want him to die—"

"Benjie, Benjie," Emma said.

"I want my mother. I want her here."

"Benjie," she said again, kissing his hair, and he held onto her and sobbed himself raw.

^*^*^*^*^*

Byers was the first to show up. He gave Ben a strong and simple hug, and listened to what happened solemnly. Ben managed to speak calmly this time, to get through it without breaking down, but he thought it was mostly due to weariness. It was past nine and they'd been in the hospital almost six hours, and there had been little news. The doctors knew what it wasn't—it wasn't a stroke, it wasn't a seizure—but they couldn't figure out what it was.

"I'd like to see his chart, if we get the chance," Byers said.

"Are you a doctor?" said Mr. Hicks.

"I know something about medicine."

Zoe had fallen asleep under her father's suit coat, and eventually Mr. Hicks said, "I think we'd better get home. There's not much we can do here. But we'll stay if you need us, Ben."

He looked at Emma, who squeezed his hands again, and he said, "Go ahead. We'll just be sitting here waiting anyway. I'll call if—if anything happens." He squeezed her hands back, and she nodded slowly.

"I'll get your assignments from school tomorrow," she said.

"Thanks. Thanks for coming. I'm glad you were here."

Again she nodded, and let go of his hands to wake up Zoe.

After the Hickses had left Ben and Byers sat quietly for a while, watching the news. The same talking heads, Ben thought, giving the same news, it's like no time has passed at all. Byers said, "Did you have any warning at all?"

"No—well, he'd mentioned the last couple days that his head hurt. It started when Mom got that file. I have to wonder if the two are connected somehow."

"Paper wouldn't have this kind of consequence, unless it was effected chemically somehow. And then it would probably effect you and Scully too."

"Well, Mom's been fine. I'm fine. It's just him. I'm thinking more about the timing, not the file itself. That maybe because of that body something was triggered in Mulder—or Not-Mulder—" He sighed.

Byers sighed too. "I have a hard time believing that he's a clone. There's so much about him that's Mulder. I mean, he's not the same Mulder and I wouldn't pretend otherwise, but it's enough that—well, I know my friend."

"I just want him to be okay," Ben said. "I don't care about the rest of it. I just want us to be a family. I mean, what will happen if he dies? What will Mom do?"

"I expect," Byers said slowly, "that she'll do what she did before: she'll pick herself up and she'll go on. Only this time she'll have you to help her."

Ben frowned, but nodded, accepting it. Yes. She would grieve and then she would go on. He stood up and stretched. "I have to walk around a little. My ass is killing me."

"I'll be here," Byers said, and Ben nodded and wandered towards the main body of the hospital.

He'd spent little time in hospitals: neither he nor his mother were ever seriously ill. It made him nervous, all this life around him at its most basic. He wished he'd brought something mindless to do to occupy himself, but when you're rushing out the front door with your delirious father you tend not to think about busywork.

Coffee, he thought, passing the cafeteria. Coffee might be good. If nothing else it would keep his hands occupied.

He bought a cup of coffee, and then after a moment went back and bought one for Byers, too. He came back to the waiting room and saw that Langely and Frohike were there, and the three of them had their heads together in a serious discussion.  "Hey," he said, and they all looked up. "Sorry, I only have the two cups."

"Hey, Ben." Langley looked uncomfortable—he didn't like hospitals either, Ben knew.

"Hiya, Ben." Frohike waved away the coffee cup. "I've had about twenty cups already today, I'm set. We're trying to figure out a way to get Mulder's charts."

"I think I'd rather wait and see what's going on," Ben said, giving the other cup to Byers, who drank from it gratefully. "You know, for the doctor to tell us."

"They're looking for conventional things," Langely said. "If it's some freaky voodoo we'll spot it."

"Freaky voodoo," Ben said, smiling for the first time in hours. "I'm so glad you guys are here."

"What about Scully? Where is she?" Frohike said.

"I called the hotel again about half an hour ago and she still wasn't back. They said they'd give her the message as soon as they could. I hope this doesn't mean it's bad news, that it's taking her so long."

"Maybe she's just being thorough," Byers said, and Ben nodded.

"Yeah, I know. One disaster at a time, I guess."

They all fell silent as a doctor in a lab coat approached them.

"Ben Scully?" he said.

"That's me. I'm with Fox Mulder."

"Right. May I join you?" He pulled over another plastic chair and sat down.  He said gently, "Son, we've run every test on your father that we have. We've ruled out what it isn't, but we've been unable to discover the cause, or even the exact effect the episode had on him. I'd like to keep him here a few days more, to observe him and see what more we can learn."

"How is he now?"

"He's resting. He regained consciousness about ten minutes ago. We have him in the ICU. Would you like to see him?"

"Yes," Ben said, rising, and he followed the doctor from the emergency room to intensive care. The Gunmen tripped along behind, but they waited outside.

Mulder looked sallow in the fluorescent light, and very thin under the covers. There were purple circles under his eyes and his hand, unencumbered by the IV, traced back and forth on the coverlet. Ben paused in the doorway, uncertain, and said softly, "Mulder?"

Carefully Mulder turned his head to look at him, and he attempted to smile. "Hey."

"Hey." Ben came to the side of the bed and put his hand on Mulder's. "You scared me."

"Scared myself."

"Are you feeling better?"

"I'm okay."

"What happened?"

Mulder closed his eyes and sighed. "I don't know. It was like—there was so much happening, but it wasn't really happening. And it overwhelmed me. It was too much."

"Your brain just took some time out, huh?"

Mulder attempted that feeble smile, and said, "Yeah, I guess."

Mulder's hand still felt cold to Ben's touch, and his skin was as dry and fragile as paper. Ben said, "I've called Mom's hotel but I haven't been able to reach her yet. She'll be here soon, I'm sure, though."

Mulder nodded and turned his head away.

"Mulder," Ben said. "You'll be fine, though, right? You're going to be okay."

Mulder said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I wanted to get you a car."

"What?"

"For your birthday. I wanted to get you a car. Any one you want."

"Oh . . . it's . . . it's okay, I don't need anything."

"Benjie?" He turned his head back to look at Ben. "Stay with me, please? I don't want to be alone."

Ben nodded, trying to keep his lips from trembling. "I'll stay. Of course I will."

Mulder nodded gratefully and closed his eyes. After a moment he said, "I remember things."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I think I'm remembering them. I remember the first time I saw your mother. She was so young. She looked &#8216;way out of her depth. I thought she wouldn't last long with me, I think I—or the work—would scare her away. She had such a sweet babyface. I didn't want to like her, Benjie, and I sure didn't think I'd ever love her." He looked at Ben again and said seriously, "I should have been there, for everything, for your whole life. It's not fair to you that I wasn't."

"Don't apologize for that," Ben said. "I know I used to be angry about it and I'm sure Mom told you, but I'm not anymore. I'm just glad you're here now."

Mulder closed his eyes again. "I'm so tired."

"Do you want to sleep?"

"Not yet. Not just yet." He opened his eyes again with visible effort. "I love your mother very much. I hope you understand that." Ben nodded. "And I love you, Benjie. My beautiful boy."

"Don't talk like you're dying," Ben whispered.

"I just want to cover my bases. Your sister, Benjie—if I do die, will you tell her about me?"

"You're not going to die. You're going to be just fine."

"Promise me, Benjie. Please. I need to know you'll do this for me."

"I'll tell her anything you want her to know. I'll tell her everything. You think it's a girl?"

"I think it's a girl. Your mother—once when we were talking about names she said she wanted a girl named Lily."

"That's when you named me," Ben said softly. "You told me about that. You said you liked the name Benjamin and so when I was born Mom named me what you wanted her to."

"I think otherwise you might have been something like . . . I don't know. Billy number three."

"I don't know, she's never said." Mulder's eyes had drifted closed, and Ben wondered if he should let him rest or wake him.

Suddenly his eyes jerked open and he gasped, "Liam."

"What?"

"Liam. That's what she said she liked for a boy's name. I remember. She liked Irish names, but not very unusual ones. She thought Liam would—would work here—" He closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his hand to his eye.

"Should I get the nurse?"

"No. Give me a minute. They have painkillers or something in the IV. They want me to sleep, I think." He said after a moment, not removing his hand, "I liked to imagine her with an armful of babies. I knew it was, you know, a daydream, but there's something so nurturing about her that I could see it, I could see her with a huge family. You should have had brothers and sisters, Benjie."

"Maybe you should sleep," Ben said quietly.

"The first time I saw her as a mother it scared me," Mulder went on. "I knew she could have anyone she wanted, and I wanted it to be me, but—oh, Benjie, I was so scared of being a father. My father wasn't—if I know anything about being a good father it's from doing the opposite of what my father did."

"You've been a good dad," Ben said. "You have. We'll all learning this together and you're doing just fine."

"I wish I could do more. I wish I could have done more. I wish I could have seen you born. Or taught you to ride a bike. Or to drive. Or to shave. I feel like I haven't given you anything and I want to give you things, Benjie. I want to give you things only a father can give you and I haven't given you anything."

"You mean my dashing good looks aren't enough?" Ben said, and Mulder smiled, as he hoped he would.

"You get your looks from your mother, too. I know everybody thinks you look like me but I see so much of her in you." His words were starting to slur together and he was having a harder time keeping his eyes open.

"You should sleep," Ben said again. "I'll stay with you as long as they'll let me."

"Promise?" The word was barely a murmur.

"Promise. I'll be here."

Mulder nodded almost imperceptibly, and it seemed to Ben he fell asleep quickly. His hand didn't let go.

=========== Twenty-six ===========

Scully had her first bout of morning sickness that morning. Telling herself it was just nerves did nothing to help soothe them, and she lay back down in bed and put her hands on her stomach. She said, "Now, listen, you in there. I have to find out the truth about your daddy but I can't do that if I have to run to the bathroom every five minutes. Okay? Do we understand each other?"

She sighed and stroked her belly hand-over-hand. "It's okay, though. You're doing exactly what you need to be doing. You keep growing in there. We love you very much." She stroked her stomach for a while longer, and then forced herself out of bed and into the shower.

Her longing for Mulder was very great. It was one thing to be away from him for a few hours, knowing they would be together in the evening—this was awful.  Her family seemed very far away.

Once her shower was done she wrapped herself up in the thin hotel towel and picked up the phone. She dialed home, wanting to hear Mulder's voice. She hoped, for once, that Ben was taking the day off from school so that she could talk to him, too.

The phone rang and rang, and finally the answering machine picked up. She sighed. Ben had gone to school after all, and apparently Mulder had gone out as well. But, she thought, that was good, it might mean he was feeling better. She hoped that's what it was.

She said after the beep, "Hi, guys, it's me. I just called to say I love you and miss you very much. I'll call again when I get back from the coroner's. I love you, Mulder. I love you, Benjie." She hung up the phone.

There was no more putting it off. She had business to intend to, people to meet with, lies to uncover. She dressed and made up her face, dried her hair and called the sheriff's office one more time to confirm the address of the morgue. She decided to skip breakfast, however—her stomach still roiled at the thought of food.

Nerves, she told herself. Just nerves.

The sheriff's name was Rachel Dunlap, and she was a tall, bony woman with startlingly blonde hair that she wore pulled up in a bun. Her handshake was firm, and Scully sensed her sizing her up with a glance. "Agent Scully," she said in a throaty smoker's voice."Pleasure."

"Likewise, Sheriff Dunlap."

"I'm not sure why you made this trip, though. I was under the impression the missing persons database was kept fanatically up-to-date and correct."

"There are some—irregularities." Scully couldn't help but grimace as they walked past the receiving desk to the vaults, as the smell of death and chemicals assaulted her. Was it her imagination or did it smell stronger than she remembered?

"I got that impression from your phone call." She swung open a door and the coroner turned from a table to greet them.

"Rachel, hi. You must be Agent Scully. Larry Kirkpatrick." He was young, dark-haired, and a hemp-and-bead necklace peeked from beneath the collar of his lab coat. "I've got the remains ready for you, just as the sheriff asked."

"Thank you." Scully shook his hand quickly and moved to the examining table, where a sheet still covered the bones. She grasped the edge and took a deep breath.

"You need help?" Kirkpatrick said, and Dunlap put her hand on his shoulder and shook her head.  Scully ignored him and pulled back the sheet.

The bones were carefully arranged on the examining table. They were long and slender, and, judging from their patina, had been in the ground a very long time. The skeleton appeared intact, even to the tiniest bones of the fingers and toes. Silently Scully picked up the right hand, the one with the broken fingers. The breaks were sloppy, jagged, and had not healed much prior to death. The same was true with the broken femur and collarbone: barely healed, careless. The shattered bone in the back of the skull was the worst, however, and she had to close her eyes and turn away for a moment. It didn't make the picture in her mind any less clear.

Shot like a stray dog, she thought, and put her hand on the skull's face. She wished she was a forensic artist as well, able to form the features of the face just from the contours of the bones. She had no doubt, however, that she would know the face it would make.

She said softly, "Were any of the bones damaged in transit?" as she brushed her thumb over the forehead.

"No, we were very careful."

"Those breaks occurred shortly before death," Kirkpatrick said quickly, and Scully nodded.

"Yes. I concur." You poor dear, she thought, how they must have hurt you. "They didn't have much time to heal."

"They look almost like they were done on purpose," Kirkpatrick said, stepping closer to her. "Deliberately brutal, don't you think? But they didn't contribute to his death, I bet."

"I think the gunshot wound took care of that. The breaks were made for another reason."

Kirkpatrick glanced from her to the silent sheriff, and said, "I understand you knew him."

"Yes. We worked together. He—Agent Mulder—he was shot here," she indicated the collarbone, "and here, in the leg. These fingers were broken during an undercover assignment. These breaks were made as if to hide the older wounds."

"Or to copy them," Dunlap said softly, and both Scully and Kirkpatrick looked at her.

"Why would anyone want to do that?" Kirkpatrick said.

"Copy," Scully whispered. She closed her eyes again and said clearly, "Those fucking sons of bitches. He's the copy. It's not him."

"I don't get it," Kirkpatrick said.

"You know who did this to him, don't you," Dunlap said, businesslike.

"Yes. I think I do. I know their faces if not their names."

"Well, that's a start."

"Oh—they're long dead and gone. Gone to their just punishment, I hope. Any evidence of their connection to this crime is long erased as well. Sheriff, I'd like to have these remains shipped to Virginia.I'd like to give him a proper burial."

"But if it's not Agent Mulder—-" Kirkpatrick began.

"No, it's not Agent Mulder. But it almost was. Can we arrange that?"

"Of course."

"I am so confused," Kirkpatrick said, and Dunlap smiled at him thinly.

She said to Scully, "I'll have our secretary start the paperwork to have the remains shipped. Will you wait until it's ready?"

"Do you think it can be ready by Saturday morning?" Dunlap smiled again, genuine this time. "I've got some strings I've been dying to pull. It will be ready."

"Do you have a phone I can use?" Scully asked Kirkpatrick, who just gestured to his desk and gave a long-suffering sigh. Scully dialed home again, making sure Kirkpatrick saw she paid for it on her own card, and waited impatiently through the rings. Be home, Mulder, I have such wonderful news for you—

Someone picked up the other end of the line, but it remained silent. She said, "Hello?" Nothing. "Is anyone there?"

In answer she heard a moan, soft and low and heartbreaking.

"Mulder?" she said. "Mulder, sweetheart, is that you? Are you all right?"

"Mulder?" Kirkpatrick said, still confused by this drama, and Dunlap shushed him, watching Scully closely.

Again the voice moaned, and whispered something, the words slurring together into incoherence. "Mulder," Scully said. "Mulder. Love. Can you hear me? Call Ben. Call Byers or any of our friends. Call—no, she's out of town. But call someone, baby, okay? Call someone to come help you. I'll be home as soon as I can. Can you hear me, Mulder? Do you understand? Call Ben at school. Tell him to come home and help you. Okay? Mulder?"

". . .  help me . . ." His voice was tiny and weak as a newborn kitten's mew, and Scully closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her stomach a moment.

"I'm coming. I'm on my way. I'll be there as soon as I can. I love you. Hold on, Mulder. Hold on." She hung up the phone, not wanting to, and said to Dunlap, "I guess I won't be here Saturday."

"I'll have the body shipped as soon as I can. Go on, Agent Scully."

"Thank you so much for everything, you've been so understanding and this is such a strange situation—"

"I'll say," Kirkpatrick said, and Dunlap rolled her eyes.

"Look," Scully said, "I know it sounds fantastic but this is what happened: a copy, a clone, of Agent Mulder was created so that his enemies would have a Mulder they could control. They made these breaks to fool me, and to fool anyone who might be suspicious enough to examine his bones for wounds we knew he had. But before they could replace the real Mulder with this copy things went wrong—God, you must have been a child, ten or eleven, maybe?—and they had to kill him. The real Mulder, the actual Mulder, is back in Virginia and he's ill and he needs me and he's the father of my children and I going home now, so please don't ask me any more questions, I have to leave."

"Oh," Kirkpatrick said faintly, and looked at the body as if he'd never seen a skeleton before.

"All right," Scully said. "Good bye. Thank you. Good bye."

"God speed," Dunlap said, which struck Scully as a strange thing to say, but she hardly paused to consider it as she left the morgue and sped the rental car back to the hotel.

^*^*^*^*^*

Even driving a good twenty miles above the speed limit, it took Scully four hours to reach the tiny airport in Great Falls, and then she had to wait an hour for the next commuter flight to the nearest large airport in Salt Lake. That flight only took forty minutes, though, and with some juggling of layovers and transfers she managed to find a flight that would bring her home around midnight.

She nibbled crackers to keep her stomach calm, wishing, not for the first time, that some Star Trek gadgets had come into everyday use. I could use a transporter right now, she thought, and smiled ruefully.She'd always hated flying but this was even worse than usual. She would have given anything to be home in a nanosecond, without jitters and airsickness to deal with.

Oh, and she could smack herself: she could have called Ben's school, had them pull him from class and tell him it was an emergency— "Dammit," she whispered, looking out the window at the clouds beneath the wings. Her family needed her to think ahead and she just jumped into the car, putting herself out of touch for hours and hours. She missed her cell phone for the first time in years.

By this time, she thought, glancing at her watch and counting the time zones again, he'll be home. He'll have found Mulder. Oh, God, Benjie, having to deal with that by yourself—

But he would know to get help if he needed it. He would know who to go to. And he would know—or he soon would—that she wouldn't leave him to deal with an emergency by himself for long.

Be well, my babies, she thought, and ate another cracker, forcing it past her dry mouth.

^*^*^*^*^*^

The definition of eternity, Scully thought, is how long it is between passengers to disembark and luggage to show up on the baggage carousel. She looked at her watch again and sighed. All those years of only taking carryon baggage and now when she really needed it she had to wait.  And she still had to find a rental car or a taxi that would be willing to take her home. At this rate she wouldn't get to the hospital until two or three.

Someone jostled her arm and she glanced up, mumbling, "Excuse me," and then looked up again. "Krycek?" she said incredulously.

"Hi." He grinned at her. "I thought you could use a ride."

"How did you get here? When did you get here?"

"I left Montana late last night and then I heard about Mulder—"

"And how did you hear about Mulder? And what did you hear about Mulder?"

He shrugged. "I still have resources, you know. And what I heard is that he had a seizure of some kind, that he collapsed."

"Is he all right?'

"Stable, I think."

"And how did you know to meet me here?"

He grinned again. "Resources. You've forgotten how to be incognito."

"I haven't needed to be. As soon as my suitcase comes will you take me to the hospital?"

"That's what I'm here for."

They waited in silence for a few minutes more, then Scully said, "Why are you doing this? What does helping me possibly bring you?"

"Would you believe me if I said I'm doing it because I'm nice?"

"No."

He chuckled softly. "Would you believe me if I said I'm doing it because I like helping you?"

"Not really, no."

"All right . . . would you believe me if—"

"I'd believe you if you told me the truth."

He looked down at his feet for a moment, then shrugged without looking up again. It seemed to Scully like something Ben would do— not the first time this much older man reminded her of her son. He really is still a boy, she thought, and resisted the urge to touch his face and smooth back his hair like she did to Ben.

He said, "Because I can, Scully, okay? Because I can. Maybe I do get something out of it but it's not anything I can explain and not anything you'd understand. Okay?"

"Okay," she said softly. "It's okay."

"Here comes the luggage," he said with relief, and stepped closer to the carousel.

^*^*^*^*^

The car ride from the airport to the hospital was no more uncomfortable than any other journey Scully had taken with Krycek recently, though she had little to say. When he pulled into the visitors' parking lot she said, "Are you going to come up and see him?"

"Oh—um—I don't think I should."

"Krycek—Alex—"

"No, really. It's okay. You take good care of him, okay?"

She nodded and got out of the car, and took her suitcase from the back seat. She leaned into his window and said, "You know, I don't understand you at all."

Krycek smiled uncomfortably and said, "You're not supposed to. I'm dark and mysterious."

"Right. I forgot. I think you should come up and see him. I think he'd like to see you."

He shook his head. "Nah. Thanks, though. Tell him I'm thinking about him, okay?"

"I will." She paused. "Alex? Are you—do you—are you in love with him?"

He stared at her for a moment, then smiled uncomfortably again and said, "You know, I've been asking myself that for years. I still don't have an answer. See you, Scully."

"See you," she said softly, and hiked up her suitcase and carryon bag and went into the hospital.

It took her several minutes more to get Mulder's room number and the name of his doctor, but finally she was on the elevator headed for the ICU. She was trembling. She licked her lips and wished she had more crackers, and then the elevator stopped at the proper floor and she got out.

"Fox Mulder?" she said to the desk nurse, who pointed down the hall.

"519."

"Thanks." Scully walked rapidly down the hall, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door.

Mulder lay in the hospital bed, his eyes closed, his monitors beeping steadily. Ben sat beside him, clutching Mulder's hand even in his sleep. Scully set down her suitcase and carryon bag and went to Ben, and gently smoothed her hand over his face to wake him up.

He gasped and opened his eyes, and then said, "Mommy," in a way he hadn't for years. He slid forward in the chair and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face against her stomach. His shoulders shuddered.

"Shh, sweetie, shh. It's okay. I'm here now. It's okay." She glanced at Mulder, but he slept peacefully on, so she ran her hand through Ben's hair and held him for a while first.

=========== Twenty-seven ===========

Ben was completely exhausted. Even his hair looked flat and tired, and Scully combed it with her fingers, trying to give it some life.

She said, "I'm glad you weren't alone the entire night."

"Yeah. It was nice of the guys to stay with me. I was surprised Walter didn't come, though."

Scully decided to keep her own feelings on this to herself. "It was good of Emma to stay with you, too."

"Yeah." His head drooped.

"You should go home and sleep, Benjie."

"Yeah." He roused himself a little. "Not yet, though. I want to see how he's doing." He said, after a pause, "He called me his beautiful boy."

She smiled. "You are his beautiful boy."

Ben laughed softly and his eyes drifted closed.

She went on stroking his hair. They both had been speaking quietly so they wouldn't disturb Mulder, though she thought a brass band might not wake him up before he was ready.

Ben said eventually, "So now that you know what happened here, it's your turn."

"We have the real Mulder," she said, and Ben smiled slowly.

"We do? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. They tried to reproduce some wounds that Mulder has but they killed him before the wounds could heal. Those gave it away."

"Why would they do that?"

"I suspect because colonization went wrong. When they originally kidnapped Mulder, they intended to kill him and replace him with the clone—"

"But you rescued him first."

"Yes."

"It doesn't explain why they took him again."

"No, it doesn't."

Ben sighed and leaned his head on his hand. "Every answer we get raises ten more questions."

"I know, and it's frustrating, but you get used to it. At this point I'm grateful for any answers at all." She could see Ben struggling to stay awake, and she said, "Benjie, lie down. I know that couch is just a glorified bench—"

"I'm awake," he mumbled, his eyes closed.

"Benjie. Lie down."

He forced himself up from the chair and stumbled to the long bench against the wall.  Without opening his eyes he lay down on his side with his head pillowed on his arm. "Wake me if anything happens."

"I will. You sleep."

Ben nodded against his arm. After a moment Scully stood and laid the spare blanket from the foot of Mulder's bed over her son, and gently stroked his face before taking her place again at Mulder's side.

He looked peaceful as he slept, serene. She studied him carefully, every familiar and beloved feature. She moved her chair closer to his bed and leaned her head on the mattress by his head and closed her eyes.

She wasn't sure if she dozed off or not, but the light in the room was brighter when she heard a soft, "Scully?" She lifted her head, and Mulder smiled at her. "Scully," he said, pleased.

"Hi." He slipped his hand over hers and she clasped it tightly. "Hi, Mulder."

"You're here."

"I'm here. I got here just a little while ago."

"You're here," he said again, and brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck. You look tired."

"I haven't slept much."

"You need to sleep. How is the little one?"

She smiled as his thumb caressed her cheek. "She's fine. We're both thriving. Do you remember what happened?"

"Vaguely. I was thinking about you, and then I started remembering—I think it was remembering—and then it was happening, it was real."

"You were hallucinating."

"I guess so. It seemed real. I was cold."

"Ben said you fell out of bed. Do you remember me calling you? I called home and you were incoherent, but you did say 'Help me.' Do you remember?"

Slowly Mulder shook his head. "I don't—I'm not sure. I remember hearing your voice but I'm not sure if it was real or if I dreamed it." He kissed her hand again. "What did you call to tell me?"

She smiled more deeply. "I called to tell you that you're you."

"What?" he whispered, smiling himself.

"You're you. You're Mulder. They tried to copy you. I think they even gave him fillings he didn't need to match your mouth. But you are the real thing." She tenderly cupped his face in her palm. "Welcome home, baby. I've missed you."

He closed his eyes. "I'm me," he whispered. "I'm me."

"I'm having the remains shipped here. I want to give him a decent burial. I want to give him a name."

"Fox Mulder the second," Mulder said dryly, and opened his eyes when she chuckled.

"No . . . but I do want to bury him under the name of Mulder. Is that all right?"

He nodded. "All right. We'll give him a name." He looked at her through half-closed eyes. "Hey."

"Hey, what?"

"Hey, there's a little more room in this bed if you don't mind squishing."

"I don't mind that at all," Scully whispered, and carefully got into the bed beside him and lay her head on his shoulder. He sighed in contentment.

"Will you sleep now?"

"Yes." She yawned. "Just a little while." She closed her eyes, soothed by the sound of his breathing and the beat of his heart.

^*^*^*^*^*

Mulder's doctor barely looked old enough to be done with high school, much less med school. He smiled when he came into the room, and Scully supposed it was at the way Ben and Mulder both clung to her hands.

"Mrs. Mulder?"

"Dr. Scully," she answered, and Mulder squeezed her hand.

"All right. I'm Dr. Kessler. I've been looking after Mr. Mulder. We're—we've been quite puzzled by his condition."

"When can I take him home?" Scully said, and Kessler smiled again.

"Well, we would like to keep Mr. Mulder here overnight, at least. I'd like to observe him, and try to find an effective method of treatment and prevention. I've outlined a course of aggressive anti-seizure medication—"

"I want to go home," Mulder said softly. "I don't want to stay here."

"Mr. Mulder—you've had a traumatic event—"

"I want to go home," he said more firmly. "I don't want to stay here. I want to be with my family. I don't like hospitals, and no offense, but I don't like doctors, either." He glanced at Scully and squeezed her hand again.

"Mr. Mulder," Kessler said gently, "this has happened to you before, and without proper treatment it will happen again."

"I don't want the proper treatment!" Mulder said, and Scully clasped both her hands around his. Ben shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I know what the proper treatment is and I don't want it!"

"Mulder," Scully said, "at least listen to him. Please."

He looked away from Kessler to her. "No. He wants to put me back on the drugs and I don't want the drugs, Scully, they make me forget. I don't want to forget. " His lips started to trembled. "Don't make me go back on them, Scully, please. I don't want to forget anymore."

She rubbed his arm and looked at Kessler, who was obviously displeased by this. "No medication," she said quietly. "We'll take our chances."

"I can't emphasize enough that I think this is a mistake."

"Well. It's our mistake to make. And I agree with Mulder: I don't want him medicated into oblivion."

"It is your choice," Kessler said slowly. "But do you honestly want to bring him back here again when the episode repeats?"

"We'll deal with things as they happen," Scully said, and Mulder leaned his head against her shoulder. She stroked his face gently. "We'll deal. We have before, we can again."

"If you check him out now it will be against doctor's orders."

"Yes. Well. So be it, then." She pressed her lips to Mulder's forehead for a moment. "Let's get you out of here."

^*^*^*^*^*^

Scully drove them home. Ben fell asleep in the back seat at once, his head lolling against the window. Mulder leaned his head on his hand and watched the streets go by, and every few minutes touched her hand or smiled at her shyly.

They were near home when she finally said, "When we get home I want you to go straight to bed, okay? I want you to rest for a while."

"Okay," he said softly. He added after a moment, "Will you be coming with me?"

Scully chuckled. "Later." She glanced back at Ben "I think we're all going to want a good long sleep today."

He nodded, looking out the window again.

Once they reached home Scully put Mulder to bed immediately.  Ben called Emma briefly and then went to bed himself. For a while Scully tried to put her things in order, reading mail that had come in her absence and messages that Ben had taken, but then finally she admitted to herself she was tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep. The rest could wait.

She went upstairs to their bedroom and quietly undressed and slipped into bed beside Mulder. He turned towards her and wrapped her up in his arms without opening his eyes.

"Knew you couldn't stay away," he murmured.

"It's strange to go to bed at ten in the morning."

"Nowhere I'd rather be."

Scully smiled, pressing her nose against his chest. "There's nowhere I'd rather be, either."

"You haven't told me how the little one's doing today."

"Oh . . . she's fine. I did throw up yesterday but I think it was nerves. I'm a lot better, now that I'm home."

"I worry."

"I know."

They were settling into a comfortable pre-sleep languor when he said hesitantly, "Scully. Are you okay with me not wanting to go back on medication?"

"Well . . . the way I see it, it's the lesser of two evils. You go on medication and forget everything again, or you stay off it and we take our chances. I'd rather take my chances—I only wish I knew what to do if this happens again. If there's anything we can do for the pain or if you'll hallucinate again or—well, I don't have any answers anyway."

He sighed, stroking her hair.  "I don't want to be that way again, Scully. I don't want to be drooling and tired and grayed-out all the time.  It's no way to live."

"No. It's not."

"But I'm still afraid. The pain was . . . bad."

"Oh, sweet baby." She kissed his face tenderly.

"And what if this goes on for years? What if I'm taking care of the baby and no one else is around and this happens again?"

Scully felt a deep shiver go through her and she said, "Mulder, if you're afraid, we can go back to the hospital, we can talk to Dr. Kessler, we can find an alternative to what you were on before. But if you're willing to take the risk then I'm willing to take it with you, okay?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing again, and then kissed her and pulled her to him and held her close. "I'm willing."

She let a few minutes pass, and then said, "Mulder."

"Hm."

"If—" she paused, wondering how to say this. "If my examination had shown he wasn't the clone—" She paused again, and looked up at him. He was looking at her, waiting, his face worried. She said, "I'd still be in love with you."

He smiled at her, happily, beautifully, and kissed her quickly. "Thank you."

"It's just the truth, sweetheart."

"I'm so glad you're home."

Scully nodded in agreement and laid her head on his chest again.

End of Part III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy my fanfic, please consider purchasing my [original fiction](http://jennajones.com).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh shooting star that fell into my eyes and through my body—  
> Not to forget you. To endure."
> 
> —"Death", Rainier Maria Rilke.

====== Twenty-eight ==========

Mulder had grown accustomed to the way Scully slept. He knew if her dreams were good or bad, if her sleep was troubled or sound. He liked to watch her sleep. He liked to watch the movement of her eyes beneath her eyelids, how she would stir and shift and settle herself. He particularly loved how, if he moved away from her, she would seek him out and curl up against him again.

Normally he slept heavily but sometimes he woke during the night, long after Scully fell asleep, and he would lie on his side and watch her. If he sensed a nightmlare he'd stroke and kiss her face until she was calm again. Sometimes he'd place his hand on her belly and feel it rise and fall with her breathing.

He was lying this way now, stretched out on his side with his hand on her stomach. Her breathing was slow and even. He had tried her trick of pacing his breathing to hers but it had not made him sleepy—actually he found it incredibly arousing—and now he just watched her.

She was warm, warmer than warm, and he wondered if this heat was a byproduct of the life forming inside her. He thought he could even detect changes in the texture of her skin. Her breasts were more full, more lush, and there was a tiny bit of new roundness to her lower belly. He ran his fingers over it lightly, thinking, This is my baby. My baby is right here.

Scully moved against his hand and he glanced up at her face, thinking he'd woken her. But her eyes were still closed and she didn't say anything, only slept on. He removed his hand nonetheless and closed his eyes, willing himself to feel sleepy.

Again she moved, and he opened his eyes when she mumbled something and pushed at the covers. Nightmare, he thought, and gently touched her face with the backs of his fingers. "Shh, shh," he whispered, and leaned over to kiss her.

Her hand batted at him and she moaned aloud. The sound frightened him&#8212;-it was full of pain and fear. She had never pushed him away before, no matter how deep her nightmare was.

"Scully," he said, as her head tossed on the pillow and she moaned again. "Scully!" She gasped and her eyes opened. They flitted around wildly for a moment and he said, "Scully, it's me, it's just me."

"Mulder," she whispered, and then collapsed against him. "Hold me."

"What did you dream?" He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

She shook her head against his chest. "Hold me," she whispered again, her words a mere breath against his skin.

He continued stroking her hair and kissing her face, and after several minutes of this he said, "Would you like to know what I dreamed tonight?" She neither shook her head nor nodded, so he went on, "I dreamed I was in a church and there was a stained glass window at the end. There were four candles on the altar but only three of them were lit. It was nighttime—I don't know why I was in a church at night—and the moon shone through the stained glass and the moonbeam lit the fourth candle."

Scully didn't say anything at first, and he thought she'd fallen back asleep. He had started to doze himself, still holding her close, when she said in a low voice, "I had a dream like the ones I had when I was expecting Ben."

"Oh, Scully . . . "

"I dreamed I was giving birth and it was like a fight to the death—I had to get the baby out of me before it tore its way out. There was blood everywhere. And I knew as soon as it was born I'd have to kill it or it would kill me." She shuddered, pressing her face against his neck. "You woke me up just in time."

"My poor Scully," he said, kissing her. "My sweet Scully. You know it won't be as bad as that."

"I know. It doesn't stop the dreams, though."

"We'll know everything tomorrow."

"Not everything." She sighed. "There could be any number of things wrong with the baby that the tests won't show."

"Still," he said, "it'll lay your worst fears to rest, won't it?"

After a moment she said, "Yes. I suppose it will."

"And like you said: whatever changes we need to make, we'll make them. We'll give her the best of everything. It'll work out. You'll see. We'll make it work."

"I hope you're right."

"I'm always right."

She chuckled softly as he stroked her hair. "That you are." Se raised her head from his chest and kissed him, and rubbed her nose against his. "I think I'll be able to sleep now."

"Good."

She lay down again, her head on his shoulder, and he kept his arm gently encircling her. He'd begun to think she had fallen asleep again when she said, "Mulder?"

"Hm?"

"This is going to sound silly-&#8212;but I think I want a dream catcher."

"A dream catcher?"

"You know, one of those Native American doodads, the hoop with the weaving across and the hole in the center. I know it's just folklore but at this point I'm willing to try just about anything to get the nightmares to stop."

"All right. I'll find you one."

"Thank you."

He said after a moment, "Leave it to you to crave a dream catcher instead of pickles and ice cream like any normal pregnant woman—ow!" he added when she swatted him.

"I just want a good night's sleep, you."

"Here, turn over. I'll rub your stomach."

She sighed dramatically but turned over so her back was to him, and he draped his arm over her and began to rub her stomach the way she liked, in large slow circles with his palm. She sighed again, sounding much more contented.

"Better?"

"Better," she murmured, and he kissed the back of her neck. "Much better . . ."

"I'll catch your dreams for you," he whispered, and she chuckled again and covered his hand with hers.

"You know, Mulder, I honestly believe you will."

^*^*^*^*^*

Scully had been going to Rebecca Forstrom for nearly ten years, since her previous OB/GYN had retired. She was pink-cheeked and plump, and she swept into her office where Mulder and Scully waited with an armload of file folders and an air of needing to be five places at once. "Hello, young lovers," she said, beaming at them, and dropped the folders without ceremony on the desk top. "What do you want to know first?"

"Oh, honestly," Scully said, "don't tease, Rebecca."

She smiled at them again and opened the topmost folder. "I want you to keep in mind that this is based on chromosomal evidence only, and there could be problems the tests don't show. But," she flipped a few pages, "we tested for all the usual suspects—chromosomal abnormalities, Rh sensitivity—which we normally don't do, Mulder, unless a previous pregnancy resulted in Rh-factor sensitivity and since Ben and Scully have the same blood type that wasn't a concern—"

"Rebecca," Scully said quietly, and the doctor paused and smiled at them again.

"All tests came back negative. Based on chromosomal evidence your baby is healthy. Would you like to know the baby's sex?"

"Yes," Mulder whispered, and Scully didn't say anything but just clutched his hand. She couldn't say anything—she was too overwhelmed with relief and joy. Healthy. Their baby was healthy.

"You're having a girl. I would put the due date at the end of February." She smiled again—this was her favorite part of the job. "Well? What do you think?"

"A girl," Mulder said. "I knew it."

A girl. Scully stroked her stomach. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"Don't thank me, Scully. You owe it all to clean living," and she winked at them. "Now. I want you to continue with the diet we discussed last time, and I want you to start prenatal vitamins as well. Are you exercising regularly?'

"Swimming every other day," Scully said.

"That's good. You can still run, if you want, or go bike-riding too. We'll keep a close watch on your blood pressure, but you had so few problems with Ben that I'm inclined to classify you as a low-risk pregnancy, despite the quirks of your reproductive history."

"Yes, well . . ." Scully said, "we've talked about that before."

"I wish all my mommies were as healthy as you are." She glanced down at the folder that held Scully's records. "Not even an ovarian cyst. Amazing."

"But that doesn't change the fact that by all normal schedules I should be in menopause right now instead of pregnant."

"By all normal schedules, yes. But you're not in menopause. You've shown none of the symptoms of it yet, nary a hot flash. I would venture to guess that whatever enabled you to have Ben, in a sense, rejuvenated you. I would even guess that had you desired you could have had a baby every year for the past seventeen years. Good thing you were so fanatical about birth control."

"Yes," Scully murmured, and she felt Mulder's hand tense in hers.

"So." Rebecca put down the folders and folded her hands on top of them. "Have you felt any Braxton-Hicks contractions yet?"

"Not yet."

"That's good. That's just fine. Do you remember how to do Kegel exercises?"

"Yes." Beside her Mulder held himself very still, his face nearly expressionless.

"Good. I want you to keep your intake of protein and iron up, exercise regularly and get plenty of rest, and I'll see you again in a week. Next time we'll talk about your preferences for the birth plan, and schedule an ultrasound. I have some things for you to read too, Mulder, on being an expectant father. All right?"

"All right," Scully said, and Mulder didn't say anything. "Thank you, Rebecca."

"Anytime, Dana. Good to see you again, Mulder."

"Yeah," Mulder murmured, and stood up to go as if his mind were elsewhere. He stood back, chewing his lower lip, as Rebecca and Scully hugged goodbye. He held the pamphlets Rebecca gave him without even smiling, and Scully watched him as they left, puzzled by his sudden change in behavior.

He's nervous, she thought as they walked out of the building, it's just hit him that this is real and he's scared. She took his hand again and squeezed it, and he smiled at her fleetingly.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sure." He said like it was an afterthought, "Are you okay?"

"I'm much better now." She leaned her head against his arm as they walked. "I can hardly believe it, though."

"Yeah."

"I want to do something to celebrate. This is such wonderful news."

"Yeah," he said again, and she glanced at him and squeezed his hand again.

"You know," she said hesitantly, "if you want somebody to talk to the clinic sponsors an expectant-father support group. It couldn't hurt, Mulder."

"I don't need to talk to anyone," he said.

"It's all right to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous." He stopped walking and put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her very tenderly on the forehead. "I love you more than anything. Do you know that?"

Scully nodded, smiling up at him. "I know."

"You're a good mother," he said softly. "You're a sweet lover. You're everything a man could ask for. I shouldn't be surprised—" He cut himself off and pressed his lips for a moment to the top of her head.

"Shouldn't be surprised at what?"

"Oh—just—you, taking care of me along with everyone else. It's my turn to pamper you now, you know."

"You can pamper me as much as you want, I'm not going to stop you there," she said, and he sighed. He stroked her hair for a moment, then kissed her forehead again.

"Let's go home. I want to be home."

They started walking again and it seemed to Scully that he clung to her a little more tightly than usual and was more reluctant to let her go. "You're sweet to worry so much," she said to him when she started the car, and he just smiled briefly again and looked out the window.

========= Twenty-nine ==========

Energized by their good news, Scully overflowed with talk and plans. "First thing I want is to go through what's stored in the basement. We need to figure out what we've already got and what we'll need to replace—which will be practically everything, I think. I gave away most of Ben's baby things when he outgrew them."

She had worn sandals and a cotton dress that day, flowing and pretty, but Mulder had noticed—and noticed others nothing—a bit of tightness to the stomach. He found it enchanting—he wanted to cup her belly in his hands and kiss it again and again. He wanted to hold her close, feeling her heat and softness. He wanted to dance with her, watch her eyes sparkle. He wanted—he wanted—

He wanted to ask her questions, but he did not want to hear the answers.

"And we need to make lists," Scully went on. "Many, many lists." She was going through her bookcases in her study, looking for a book. Mulder leaned against the couch and folded his arms over his chest, watching her.

They had not made love since Scully returned from Montana. Mulder knew it was out of deference to his weakened condition, but now he wondered it that was the entire reason. He did not know how to ask her what was the truth.

"I think the guest room would work best as the nursery. It's closest to the master bedroom and has good light and space. We'll keep her in the bedroom with us for the first few weeks, though, and when she's secure enough to sleep on her own—"

"Scully," he said, and she paused and turned from the bookshelf, one of the books she'd pulled out in her hand.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"Do you love me?"

She smiled at him tenderly. "Yes."

"How much?"

She spread her arms wide, grinning. "This much and even more."

"I'm serious."

"What kind of a question is that, Mulder? How much do I love you? I love you completely, I love you thoroughly, I love you forever—I'm just not sure what you're asking me."

"You love me forever?"

"Forever and always, Mulder." She put the book down and went to him, and put her hands on his and held onto his fingers. "What is it? What's bothering you?" She rubbed his fingers gently. "If you're nervous about the baby—"

"I'm not nervous about the baby. I'm not." He kissed her hand and pressed it over his heart. "I'm excited and happy and I—and I'm so in love with you—" She smiled again, deeper, and stood up on her toes to kiss him. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and said, "Tell me, Scully, tell me: did we ever make each other any promises? Beyond that we'd love each other forever?"

"We were talking about getting married, Mulder, and about trying to conceive. You remember that, don't you? We were making a future." Her eyes searched his face. "You're shaking. Are you all right?"

"I'm scared," he blurted, and stooped down to hold her and hide his face against her neck. "Hold me, Scully, don't let me go, please don't let me go."

"Never." She stroked and kissed his hair. "Never again. Never. I love you, I love you so much. Believe me, Mulder—you do believe me?"

"I'm trying to. This," he placed his hand on her belly, "this amazes me, it stuns me, it humbles me—I'm so gratefu-l-" He dropped to his knees and kissed her stomach, on the outmost curve of the roundness.

"What is it, Mulder? Tell me."

He didn't say anything but slid his hand up her leg beneath her dress, and stroked her thigh with his thumb. She gasped and he looked up at her.

"Mulder? What are you—do you—"

"Do you want me?" he whispered. His fingertips brushed over her stomach and she shivered deeply as he slid her panties down her legs.

"Yes," she breathed, leaning back against the arm of the couch for support. "Yes, Mulder."

The dress buttoned down the front, tiny daisy-shaped buttons that slipped from his eager fingers. She helped him, unbuttoning from the top as he unbuttoned from the bottom, and in moments she was nude, her body framed by the open dress. "It was hot this morning," she whispered weakly, her hands digging into the leather arm of the couch.

"Thank God for heat waves, then," he whispered, and he cupped her round stomach in his hands and started planting kisses all around. "I've been wanting to do this all day."

Scully moaned, thrusting her hands into his hair, and she cried out even louder as his tongue began to trace patterns over her stomach and thighs. He planted her feet apart so that her legs were open wide.

"I seem to remember this," he said softly.

"Uh-huh," Scully said, and her toes curled and flexed. She licked her lips. Her hands were shaking as she placed them on his shoulders.

"Look at you," he murmured, leaning towards her, opening her thighs even wider. "All swollen and slippery. You're like an overripe peach. So juicy." He tongued the crease between her thigh and her pelvis and Scully shut her eyes and groaned. "So sweet," he whispered. "Do you taste as good as you look, Scully?"

"You—tell—me," she gasped.

He smiled at her, and closed his eyes and bent his head to her. His thumbs opened her labia to him, and he was so close her warmth and scent enveloped him. "I remember the taste of you in my mouth. I remember you clutching my hair and moaning my name. I remember you coming so hard I thought you'd fainted. I think you actually did once, didn't you? I think I remember that."

She nodded, her eyes shut.

"I remember," he said hoarsely. "I remember every threat and promise that you made. 'Don't stop or I'll die, Mulder. Don't stop or I'll hurt you.' I remember the eloquent Dr. Scully reduced to whimpering 'Don't stop, don't stop,' and I never did stop, did I? Not until you were finished."

"Not until you were," she whispered. "Not until you were satisfied that I was satisfied."

He looked up at her. Her head was thrown back, her neck arching, and her lips were damp from her tongue. "Was I the best?" he said roughly.

"Yes," she said, and he groaned and plunged his tongue into her.

Scully's back arched off the couch and her feet skidded against the floor. She made delicious, delightful sounds—"oh, ah, mm—" as he buried himself in her tight, hot narrow passage. He did not tease and did not tempt; he was straightforward, fucking her with his fingers while he licked her clit and then changing them around, his tongue inside her and his fingertips circling and stroking. He was as determined to make her not just come but shatter.

Her chant started sooner than he thought it would, a mere whisper at first: "Don't stop don't stop don't stop—" Her voice rose as the vibrations in her body increased: "Don't stop, oh please don't stop, Mulder, Mulder—" She was at the edge, he could feel it, and though he hated to do it he stopped. Lifted his head and looked at her and said, kneading her thighs with sticky fingers, "Nobody but me, Scully."

"Nobody." Her breasts heaved. Her eyes were almost black with arousal.

"Ever."

"Ever."

"Say my name."

"Mulder," she responded at once, the little word filled with longing.

He kissed her stomach. "Scully." He kissed her again. "And Uber-Scully. Love you both. Love you so much." He stooped to her hips again, and it took just a few short strokes of his fingers and flicks of his tongue and she was clutching at him, bending over him and calling out his name. Her body shook so violently he thought she might fall, and he held onto her hips, easing her past the high of her orgasm with gentle strokes of his tongue until she was still.

He rested her head against her, listening to her pant as her breath slowed to normal. She stroked his hair and his face tenderly, and slowly sank down onto her knees so that they were face to face.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning her forehead against his. "I've missed that."

"You like that, huh?"

She chuckled softly. "You always were the best, Mulder."

"The best out of how many?"

She looked at him, puzzled, and said, "Mulder. What is it?"

"You loved me, didn't you, while I was away? And we'd promised each other there would be no one else, didn't we?"

"Yes," Scully whispered. "We said that."

"Then why—" He thought he would choke on the words but he forced them out anyway, "Then why were there others, Scully?"

Scully closed her eyes and pulled her hand out of his. "Mulder, you're making assumptions—"

"You said once you'd never had sex with Ben in the house. At the time I thought, Of course not, I wasn't here. Then today when Rebecca said you'd always been strict about birth control I realized what you really meant. There were others, weren't there? Others that you brought home—and made love to in our bed—"

"Mulder, please."

"How many others were there? Are they anyone I know? Was it—was it Skinner? Is that why he hates me now?"

"Walter? No. No," she said softly. "There weren't many and they weren't anyone you know. Just two."

"Were you in love with them?"

"Mulder, it was a long time ago and I was—" She stopped and cupped his face in her hands. "No. I wasn't in love. Listen to me, okay? I want to tell you about this."

He nodded reluctantly, and they both moved off their knees to sit on the floor. He leaned his head against her and she held him, her arms around his shoulders.

"The first one . . . his name was Jonathan. He moved into one of the houses down the block. Ben was three or so. Jonathan was freshly divorced, no children. He used to watch us while I was teaching Ben to ride a bike and roller skate. He would throw barbecues. He was  . . . nice. He was really nice. He called Ben 'Buster.' The guys hated him."

"Why?"

"Because he was the anti-you, I think. Frohike used to call him Bizarro Man."

"Wasn't I nice?"

"You're a different kind of nice. He was dull, that's what they were objecting to. They thought I was going for safety. They were right, you know. I was looking for safety and so was he. It wasn't about love or passion or any of the regular things. It was just two wounded people looking for a place to be safe together. Anyway . . ." She sighed. "It only lasted the summer and ended amicably. He got married a few years ago. They have two girls.  No hard feelings."

"But you weren't in love with him."

"No. I wasn't."

"You said he was the first one."

"There was a second. His name was Perry. He was much too young. He wanted a ready-made family, as far as I could tell, but he was so uncomfortable around Ben. Ben was ten, I think. Yes, that sounds right. Ben had hardly noticed Jonathan—he was just another of Mommy's friends—but he noticed Perry. He didn't like him. That was the main reason it ended."

Mulder said softly, "You gave up someone who could have made you happy because of Ben?"

"Well . . . there was that. And I knew he wasn't right for me. He wasn't you."

Mulder didn't say anything, but he placed his hand gently on her warm stomach again.

"I dated a little. Those were the only actual relationships I had. And they ended just as they should have. They were just people, you know, no one special, no one remarkable, no one who inspired any kind of passion in me. And it always came down to . . . they weren't fun. I had more fun with my friends, with my son. I wasn't satisfied with just a warm body, you know? I wanted you, and no one else could measure up to you."

"We had fun," Mulder whispered, and Scully laughed.

"Yes. We did. You used to tell me stories and make up these awful lullabies—you'd be so bawdy—you used to make me laugh almost as much as you do now. Loving you was fun, Mulder. Loving you is fun."

Her hand raked through his hair a time or two, and settled into a comfortable scratching at the base of his skull. He said, "Tell me more about us."

"Tell you what?"

"Just more. Tell me anything. Tell me things you've told me before." Then he said, sitting up, "No. I want to tell you something."

"All right."

He looked into her eyes and said, "I was in love with you while you were away from me. I missed you so much I ached all over. I couldn't sleep. I wanted to talk to you, I wanted you to talk to me, I wanted to hear you tell me one more time that I was nuts." She smiled a little, nodding, and he thought there was a tear in her eye. He went on, softly and deliberately, "While you were gone from me a met a woman. Kristen. We didn't know each other long but we connected. We—I won't call it making love because it wasn't that—but I slept afterwards. I felt safe enough to sleep. But she wasn't you. I was still in love with you."

"I know, Mulder. You've told me this story before. You were feeling confessional one night and you told me about all of your past lovers. All eight of them. I wasn't upset because that was the past and what mattered was the future." Her eyes searched his and she held onto his hands. "Can you do that, Mulder? Can you let the past go?"

"-I-I can. I can try."

Scully closed her eyes, and the shadow of her lashes seemed vulnerable on her cheek. Mulder traced the shadow and said, "I can. I can let go, Scully."

"We have things we need to do," Scully said, letting go of his hands, and she stood and rebuttoned her dress. "What did you do with my underwear?"

He handed her panties to her silently, and watched her slip them back on. He felt like he was losing something terribly important, but he didn't know what to say to bring it back.  He lay down on the floor as she went back to the bookshelf, and wrapped his hand around her ankle.

"Scully."

"What."

He slid his hand up her leg a little and said, "I don't know." He caressed her calf with his thumb.

"Mulder . . ." She sighed and pulled out a book. "Here it is." She held the book out to him, and he sat up and took it.

"Names."

"Yes. We have to call her something."

He turned the book over a few times and said, "I thought we'd call her Lily."

"Oh."

"Do you not like that name anymore?"

"I still do—I didn't think you remembered it."

"I remember. I like it. Lily Scully. It's pretty."

"Or Lily Mulder," Scully said in a soft voice.

He opened the book and flipped through a few pages and said, "Scully? Do you want to get married?"

Her eyes widened and she said, "You accuse me of cheating on you and now you want to get married? Honestly, Mulder."

"Well, do you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then let's get married."

She put her hands on her hips and frowned. "Hell of a proposal, Mulder."

Mulder grinned at her and got onto his knees. He took her hands in his, even though she rolled her eyes and looked exasperated.  "Dana," he said, which got him another eye-roll, "will you do the honor of becoming my wife?"

Scully rubbed her thumbs over the backs of his hands for a moment, and said, "Yes. I guess I really should. Since you did knock me up—twice, now, too."

"That's just because you can't say no to me."

"Are you saying I'm easy?" The frown was back between her eyebrows.

"No." He swung her hands a little, smiling at her. "Just that you're mine."

For a moment he thought he'd offended her, but at last she smiled and said, "Get up. We have a baby to prepare for."

"And a wedding," he said, standing, and after a brief hesitation she nodded.

"And a wedding. All in its own time."

He tilted her face up and kissed her nose. "Don't make me wait long," he said, and the smile he got this time was genuine and deep.

====== Thirty ======

On the drive to the cemetery Scully bought three bouquet of flowers, and she'd brought some cleaning supplies and a small grass trimmer as well. "They never clean up the stone after they plant it," she explained, and as he stood at the gravesite Mulder saw she was right. There was a bit of mud on the flat stone, and the grass grew close to the edges.

Scully got down onto her knees at once, wiping off the mud with a rag and cleaning fluid, but Mulder stayed back a little, holding the bouquets. When they'd buried the body there had been no service, no eulogies, only a tiny number of mourners, and Mulder hadn't given much thought to the body inside the coffin. But looking at the stone now, near the graves of Scully's father and sister, he had to wonder at fate and circumstances and luck and all the strange things that had brought them here.

Zachary Patrick Mulder, the stone read, 1960-2000. Mulder thought, with a deep shiver, that it could easily read Fox William Mulder, and he would be the one with a new name. He thought that if it had been Fox Mulder in that grave instead of the copy, he probably wouldn't be standing here at all, despite what Scully said.

"Do you think a clone has a soul?" he said abruptly, and Scully looked up at him, her hand slowing for a moment as she thought about it.

"I don't know. He had feelings, memories, preferences, according to what Krycek said. If that's what makes up a soul then maybe he did." She shrugged, looking down at the stone. "Maybe now his soul is at peace, buried decently like this."

"Very decent," Mulder murmured. Everyone had said that at the burial: This is a decent thing you're doing. They could have turned over the body to the authorities, Scully explained to him, and they would bury him as a John Doe—but that felt wrong to her. We know who he is, she'd said. I feel responsible.

Finally the headstone was clean to her satisfaction, and she trimmed back the grass a bit from around the stone and from her father's and sister's, too. When that was done she stayed kneeling there for a moment, her head bowed, and then she rose and said, "What do you think? Does it look better?"

"It looks fine." He gave the bouquets to her and she laid one at each headstone. There was a contemplative expression on her face, and Mulder was beginning to think he shouldn't have come. She looked like she wanted to be alone, and he only wanted to be far away from this grave that so easily could have been his. "I'm going to walk around a little," he said, and she nodded absently.

Mulder walked away quickly from the graves, slowing when he reached the road. He walked past their car and up the lane, trying not to look at the graves on either side. Instead, he watched his feet move over the black pavement.

It could have been me, he thought, shoving his hands in his pockets. It should have been me. If Scully hadn't saved me—pure chance that I'm here at all—pure luck, dumb luck maybe—

He became aware in a moment that there were other footsteps behind him, and he frowned and hunched his shoulders further. He still was uncomfortable around strangers and he had no desire to strike up a conversation now.

The stranger fell into step beside him. He wore black boots and frayed jeans, and Mulder frowned again at the strange feeling of dÃƒÂ©jÃƒÂ vu. He glanced up, about to tell him to leave him alone, but instead stopped walking and said, "Alex?" ^"Hey, Mulder," Krycek said, smiling awkwardly. "Sorry to sneak up on you like that—I called but you didn't answer—"

"I was thinking. How are you?"

"Good. Okay. And you?"

"Good. Getting better." They looked at each other a moment, and Mulder said, "This is ridiculous," and hugged Krycek, like they used to hug each other all the time. He could remember, vaguely but it was a real memory, Krycek holding him when he was shaken by nightmares, promising to protect him from anything, anyone. He could remember other things, too, darker things, rages with Krycek that he could barely contain, but he wanted to ignore those. It was long ago, when they weren't brothers.

Krycek was the first to move out of the hug, and he smiled awkwardly again. "Thanks. It's good to see you. How's Scully?"

"She's nonstop," Mulder said proudly. "We're getting the house ready for the baby and she's always thinking of new things to do. I don't know where she gets her energy."

"She always was like that. And Ben?"

"He finally decided on a college. University of Virginia. They're lucky to get him."

Krycek nodded. "He's a smart kid."

"He says now the hard part is deciding a major."

"Yeah."

"Come back with me," Mulder said. "I'm sure Scully would like to see you."

"Well, I don't know if she'd like to—but I did come here hoping to see you both. There's something I want to talk to you about."

"What?"

Krycek shook his head. "I'll tell you both at once." They started up the road again, towards where Scully waited.

She'd finished making her peace, or whatever she'd been doing, and looked ready to go. "Krycek," she said with surprise, "have you come to pay your respects?"

"I guess. I didn't bring any flowers, though. I, um—"

"He wants to ask us something," Mulder said.

"Oh?" Scully's eyebrow rose and Mulder took her hand.

"I'm sure it's important. Isn't it, Alex?"

"Yeah, very."

"Why didn't you come by the house, then?" Scully said.

"I'm not sure it's safe."

"Of course it's safe. I don't know who could be watching us at this point."

"Maybe. . . ." Krycek said reluctantly. "I didn't want to just show up, though. Would you like to go somewhere we can sit down? There are some benches just up the hill a ways."

"Just tell us," Scully said, and Mulder glanced from her to Krycek, wondering why she sounded so angry.

Krycek sighed and said, "Okay. Remember in the hotel room, Scully, when you asked me if the people who helped me could help Mulder?"

"Yes."

"I've done some inquiring, and they think they can."

Scully didn't even move for a moment, and she said, "Oh my God," in her softest voice.

"Help me?" Mulder said. "Help me what?"

"Help you recover," Krycek said. "Help you get your memories back. Help you with the headaches and the hallucinations."

"Scully," Mulder breathed, clutching her hand, and Scully closed her eyes for a moment.

"What do we have to do?"

"Well, I was told it's an eighteen-hour procedure. It's like brain surgery but, uh, a bit more sophisticated than what you'll find in the average hospital. I've got the means in my car, it's just a question of when."

"Scully," Mulder said, "do you realize what this means? I could be me again! I could—I'd know about us!"

Scully looked unconvinced. "What are the risks?" she said quietly.

"Risks?" Krycek said.

"There are always risks. Don't try to snow me, Alex."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Yeah. There are risks. I have a—look. What it is, is they're nanites."

"Nanites," Scully repeated.

"I inject the nanites into Mulder with a program for them to repair some certain areas, and provided the programming is successful when he wakes up he'll remember."

"And if it's not successful?" Scully said.

Krycek bit his lip, then said, "Permanent brain damage. Death. That's the risk. I know what I'm doing, though, Scully, I've done this before—I mean, not brain surgery, I don't know if anyone has done that, but I got a friend to write a program for me and I just have to watch over Mulder and make sure the program runs successfully. My friend's done everything from my own arm to really delicate eardrum surgery and he knows what he's doing."

"Brain surgery is not like reattaching a limb," Scully said.

"Not reattaching, Scully. Rebuilding."

"Scully," Mulder said eagerly, "oh, God, Scully, think about it—"

"No," Scully said.

"Scully?"

"Why not?" Krycek said.

"No," Scully said again. "No, Mulder. The risk is too great."

"But I could be normal again."

"You are normal. You're just fine, love. I'm not going to risk your life on the slim chance that some technological pirates can heal you. No."

"But, Scully—"

"No," she said even more firmly. "It's too much. It's too much to ask, Krycek, I can't allow it. We're doing just fine."

"But Scully," Krycek said, "what if he has more headaches? More hallucinations? I know you're worried about that. Hell, I know Mulder is terrified of it. If we can stop that—if we can give back to Mulder what was taken from him—"

"No," Scully said. "That's final. The risk is too great. I'm ready to go home, Mulder."

"But, Scully—"

"No more, Krycek!" Her hand trembled in Mulder's, and he took the bucket of cleaning supplies from her other hand. "I said no and I mean no. If you honestly think I'd risk Mulder's life—especially now—no. No. Absolutely not."

Krycek nodded reluctantly and said softly, "Okay, Scully. Okay. Mulder?"

Mulder licked his lips, watching Scully's miserable face, and he said, "I have to go with Scully. If she thinks it's too dangerous . . ."

Krycek nodded again. "Okay. Well. I'll be seeing you, then." He turned and started to slowly walk away. Mulder felt Scully soften, and she said, "Krycek. Alex. Wait." He faced them, his hands in his pockets. "Do you need a place to stay for a while? I swear you'll be safe with us."

"Yeah." He smiled a little. "Okay. I'd like that. I'll come by after sunset, though, okay? Just to be sure."

"All right. See you."

"Bye, Alex," Mulder said softly, and walked with Scully to their car.

He was quiet on the drive home, and Scully glanced at him repeatedly. "Honey?" she said finally. "You do understand, don't you, why I don't want you to have the procedure?"

"But I could be normal, Scully."

"You are normal."

He chuckled without meaning it, and said, "Yeah, afraid of crowds and not sure which of my memories are real and which are dreams. Sure, I'm normal."

"You are."

"I don't want to have any more of those headaches, Scully. The pain is really bad."

"There's still medication—"

"You know how I feel about that."

She sighed. "I know."

"This seems like a real chance, Scully. For you to have the husband you deserve, you know? I could be the man you fell in love with again."

"I'm in love with you," she said firmly. "It has nothing to do with deserving or not deserving. Furthermore I am not the same person I was seventeen years ago—believe me, if we'd been together all this time we'd still have to get used to each other sometimes. People change even when they don't mean to."

He looked out the window and said, "Maybe I want to be who I used to be, Scully," and she took a sharp and deep breath.

"I'm not going to agree to it, Mulder. Stop asking. It's too great a risk. Your life is worth more to me than that."

He leaned his head against the window and sighed himself. Couldn't she see how much he wanted to be himself, smart and confident and Scully's equal again? "All right," he whispered, and she put her hand gently on his arm.

"I love you too much to lose you now, Mulder," she said. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes," he whispered. "Scully?"

"Yes, love?"

"Was I a bad person? Do you not want that person back?"

"Mulder . . . I loved you then. I love you now. Let it go, okay? Please? You were a good man then and you're a good man now. You were funny and brilliant and charming, just like you are now."

"I'm not brilliant."

"Mulder . . ." There was a thickness to her voice that warned him tears were close, and he sighed again.

"I'm sorry. I just—I want to be whole. That's all."

"You're whole enough," Scully said, taking his hand, and she put it lightly on her belly. "You're just who you should be. Please. We have everything we could ask for. I can't let you take the chance, not when the price is your life."

"All right," he whispered, and leaned as close to her as his seatbelt would allow, to put his head on her shoulder. He knew she was telling the truth, but still he wasn't sure if he believed it. How could she want him instead of the man he used to be?

I'll talk to Alex more, he promised himself. Just talk. It won't hurt anything to talk.

========== Thirty-one ==========

After dinner Ben brought out all of his camping equipment, from his lightweight sleeping bag to the hiking case for his guitar. He and Scully had both made up lists of supplies for his trip, and so bags of trail mix were lined up neatly on the living room floor with rolls of tissue paper and six-packs of bottled water. Scully had never taken him camping—she had few pleasant associations of being in the forest—but his friend Chris's parents were avid hikers and had been taking him along since the boys were very young. As long as they avoided the very deep woods, Scully allowed this and encouraged it: she wanted Ben to enjoy the outdoors, as long he understood how dangerous it could be.

Now he and his friends, the motley collection of boys and girls he'd been bringing home all summer, were spending Labor Day weekend camping along the nearest stretch of the Appalachian Trail.  Chris's parents were going along as chaperones and guides, and Scully kept telling herself it was just another trip like dozens he'd taken before.

Still, she felt this would likely be a turning point in his life. It was just something in the air.

Part of that feeling, she was sure, came from Krycek, who was sitting next to an open window. Mulder had taken the screen out for him, and Krycek quietly smoked his cigarette facing outside and held it out the window so no smoke would get inside. Scully could still smell the smoke, but didn't mention it to him. He'd been so apologetic and fidgety when he asked if it was all right.

She was glad Ben had his camping trip to get ready for, otherwise she wasn't sure what they would do with Krycek here. Watching TV or reading like they usually did at night seemed rude with a guest around.

"Okay," Ben said, surveying the floor. "My checklist is full. What am I forgetting, Mom?"

"Socks," she said. "You always need more socks than you bring."

"I think a dozen pairs for three days is enough, don't you?"

"Extra shirts?"

"Got 'em."

"Can opener," Mulder said. "You never know when you're going to need a can opener."

"That's a good idea," Ben said and went into the kitchen to find one.

"Raelynn and Justin usually feed them hot dogs and stew, but with ten kids coming this time I have no idea what they're planning to do." Scully shifted around on the floor and checked Ben's plastic bags of food one more time. He'd volunteered to bring the makings for s'mores: several dozen Hershey bars, bags of marshmallows, boxes of graham crackers, wire hangers he had untwisted and cut into good lengths for roasting.

"Maybe they'll make the kids forage," Krycek said, and Mulder laughed.

"Rattlesnake stew, maybe."

"Yum," Krycek said dryly, and looked out the window to take another drag on his cigarette.

Ben came back from the kitchen, banging the manual can opener rhythmically against his hand. "Can opener, check," he said, putting it with the pile of food supplies. The short sleeve of his t-shirt flapped a little, showing the dark band around his arm.

"What's that?" Krycek said, nodding towards him. "On your arm."

"Oh," Ben said, glancing down as well. "That's my tattoo." He pulled up his sleeve to show it more fully. "It's  Celtic knot work, 'cause we're Irish."

"That's really nice. I never could work up the guts to get one—or decide what I wanted. I'm surprised your mom didn't freak out, though."

"It's hard for Mom to freak out when she's got one herself," Ben said, and Krycek looked at Scully with visible shock.

"Scully? You?"

She smiled demurely and said, "It's on my back. It's a personal symbol."

"It's cool," Ben said.

"Scully has a tattoo," Krycek said, looking out the window again. He shook his head slowly. "Imagine that."

Sitting on the couch, Mulder stretched out his own right arm and looked at it thoughtfully. "I hope you're not thinking what it looks like you're thinking," Scully said.

"It seems to be a rite of passage in this family, that I was previously unaware of."

"It depends on how rebellious you're feeling, I suppose. And what you're rebelling against. Although—" Scully moved from the floor to the couch beside him, "you did once offer to get the Knicks logo tattooed on your butt and I wouldn't mind seeing that."

"I think I'll wait," Mulder said, and they smiled at each other.

"Minor present," Ben said dryly, and Krycek chuckled.

Scully picked up her own list and scanned it. "Do you have the Swiss army knife? Extra underwear? And did you replenish the first aid kit after last time?"

"Yes, yes and yes. I added Pepto-Bismol tablets, too."

"Good thinking. And lots of batteries for the flashlight?"

"Yes." He thumped the pocket where they were packed.

"Well, I think you are ready, my son. Go forth and conquer." She grinned at him and Ben laughed.

"I am the king of the forest," he said dramatically. "All shall bow down to me and my mastery of the ways of the woods."

"Benjie . . ."

"Sorry. Got carried away." He started packing away his supplies into his backpack, still snickering to himself.

"I don't need to remind you, do I, that you must respect nature the same way you would a loaded gun, right?"

"Right, right."

"And I certainly don't want to hear about you and Emma wandering off to be by yourselves."

"Right. No wandering off."

"Which reminds me, do you have a whistle?"

"I have the whistle. I also have Betsy," he said, laying his guitar in the hiking case beside his backpack. "If I get lost I'll play 'Stairway to Heaven' until they find me and tell me to quit it."

"I'm serious, Ben."

"Have I ever gotten lost? I am the perfect camper. I respect the woods, Mom, you've taught me well. Okay? Relax. Nothing is going to happen."

"I hope not," Scully said.

"You can play 'Stairway'?" Krycek said from the window.

"You have to know 'Stairway' if you play guitar," Ben said. "Whenever I play for people that's the first thing they request. I like campfire songs better, though, folk songs."

"You take requests?"

"I do." He opened the guitar case. "What do you want to hear?"

"Oh . . . do you sing?"

"Yeah."

"He sings very well," Scully said proudly.

"There's this old Pete Seeger tune that Metallica did a cover of. 'Here I am, on the road again'—"

"Oh, yeah," Ben said, "'Turn the Page.' I know that one." He tuned his guitar for a moment or two, and then began to play. He sang the bleak lyrics in a soft voice, and as she listened Scully leaned her head against Mulder's shoulder and slid her fingers between his. He looked down at her and smiled.

Sitting in the windowsill, Krycek closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the frame. His fingers tapped his knee lightly.

"'Here I am,'" Ben sang softly, "'on the road again. There I am, up on stage. Here I go, playing star again. There I go, turn the page.'"

^*^*^*^*^*

Scully had dozed off waiting for Mulder to come upstairs, and woke up when someone removed her book from her hands. "Mulder?" she said sleepily.

"It's me. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay." She took off her reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "What time is it?"

"Late. Past one."

"Have you and Krycek been talking this whole time?"

Mulder nodded, taking her reading glasses from her hands and putting them aside. "Turns out we had a lot to talk about."

"Like what?"

"Oh . . ." He started rubbing her fingers between his. "Like, I'd tell him what I remember and he'd tell me if it was true." He added softly, looked at their joined hands, "I used to hate him, didn't I."

"Yes, you did."

He sighed and lay against her, slipping his arms around her waist and lying his head against her breast. "He said he never hated me. He said he envied me sometimes but he never hated me. Or you. He'd never hated you, either."

Scully stroked his hair, brushing the ends with her fingertips.l"What prompted him to say that?"

"I asked him."

"Oh." He had closed his eyes, and as he lay against her he felt solid and warm. She continued stroking his hair and ran her other hand slowly up and down his back. He sighed again, more happily this time, and began to stroke her stomach in time to her hands.

"I can hardly wait to see her," he whispered. "I can hardly wait to see her face, hear her voice. I can't wait to hear her laugh, her little feet as she runs about . . . " He moved down her body and started kissing her stomach with tiny nipping kisses through her pajama top.

Scully arched towards him, drawing in her breath. They never went to bed assuming they would make love, but they almost always did. And still it surprised her, how much she could want him, how quickly the desire for him would rise within her. It never changed. She didn't want it to.

"What will she be like?" Mulder went on softly, kissing her still. "Do you think she'll be quiet and thoughtful, like Ben? Or maybe she'll be playful and laughing . . . maybe she'll run marathons, maybe she'll travel to the stars . . . I do know she'll be beautiful, just like her mommy . . . I picture her with blue eyes and a headful of red curls . . ."

"More likely she'll have dark eyes, like yours," Scully said softly. "Dark hair, too. Genetic dominance, you know."

He looked up at her and grinned. "Oh, baby, talk dirty to me more," he teased, and moved up to kiss her mouth.

Scully raked her hands through his hair, breathless with the emotions he stirred in her—desire for the body of her lover coupled with deep tenderness for her friend. But then, that's love, isn't it, she thought.

True love, with all its tangles, all its complications, all its difficulties, all its joys, expressed in one simple gesture—one long, deep, endless kiss.

It was a perfect way to end the evening.

^*^*^*^*^*^

When she woke up again, early the next morning, he wasn't there.

========== Thirty-two ==========

For a moment Scully sat still in bed, cataloging the events of the night before. She'd fallen asleep wrapped deep in his arms, and he'd whispered to her and stroked her hair. And then late, late at night, he'd kissed her and slipped out of bed.

He hadn't come back. It was as simple as that.

Scully threw back the sheets and grabbed her bathrobe, pausing just long enough to shrug it on and belt it tightly. She thought, I will not get mad. I have nothing to get mad about. He's up, that's all, he's probably talking to Alex or cleaning up after Ben's breakfast. He probably got up to make Ben breakfast. That's all, that's it, I will not get mad.

She walked so quickly down the hall she almost missed the open door to the guestroom, and it took a moment to register that the door was open when it would more likely be closed. She went back and went to the guest room.

The bed was made, and Mulder lay on top of it in his jeans and t- shirt. His face was serene, his hands were open by his sides. Krycek was asleep in the armchair by the window, shirtless, his feet propped up on the bed and his mouth open. There was a small palm computer in his lap, its screen dark with rapidly moving data.

They'd done it. She'd told them not to, she'd told them why, and they'd gone ahead and done it anyway.

At that moment she didn't know who she hated more.

In three quick steps she was across the room, and she slapped Krycek hard across the face. He came awake with a startled "Oof!" as he nearly fell out of the chair. He grabbed the palm computer before it hit the floor.

"Scully! What the hell!"

"How could you! How could you!" She hit him again, and again and again with both hands. He tried to twist away from her, holding up his arms to protect his face.

"Scully! Dammit—"

"How could you!"

He grabbed her wrists, jumping to his feet. "Stop hitting me," he said between his teeth. They glared at each other, panting.

"You fucking bastard," Scully whispered. "You've killed him."

"I've given him his life back."

"There's more at stake here than his memory," Scully spat, trying to tug her wrists out of his grip, but he held onto them tightly. "Let go of me."

"Are you going to hit me again?"

"Let me go!"

"Not if you're going to hit me again. I've been beaten up quite enough, thank you."

She yanked her wrists out of his hands, and he let them go and sank down onto the edge of the bed. "Look," he said. "He was aware of the dangers but he wanted it, Scully. He was willing to take the chance and I couldn't refuse him. He needed to do this, Scully."

"And my children need their father, Krycek."

He sighed heavily and said, "The odds are on his side. These buggers don't make mistakes, providing the programming is okay. He'll be fine."

"What's the success rate?"

"Eighty percent full success, ninety-five satisfactory."

"For this procedure?"

He dropped his eyes and said, "He's—uh—Mulder is actually the first."

"The first. You're asking me to place my trust in an untested operation—"

"But the technology, Scully, the technology isn't untested. My friend has been doing this for twenty years. He's done eye surgery, bypasses, he's rebuilt limbs, he thinks he's found a way to remove inoperable tumors—"

"But this . . ." She didn't want to cry in front of him but it was so hard not to. "You don't know if this will work."

"No. Not—no. I don't."

She knelt down on the floor by Mulder's head. "Will it disturb anything if I touch him?"

"No."

She stroked Mulder's face tenderly with the backs of her fingers. He looked as peaceful as if he were dreaming. "So if this miracle cure is so wonderful why doesn't the general public know about it?"

"Some of my friend's colleagues tried to go public before and they were eliminated."

Scully shivered at the matter-of-fact way he said it. "By you?"

His jaw clenched and he said, "Believe what you want. I know the truth."

"So what is the truth? Who are you, Alex Krycek?"

"You want all the secrets of the universe at once? Let's just say I fell in love with someone."

"And that changed your life?"

"Yeah," he said, defensively, Scully thought.

"Who?"

He looked at her a moment, then held up the palm computer. "My friend who does this. He healed me in every way possible, and I—uh—well. That's enough of the secrets of the universe for one day."

"Please tell me the story," she said softly. Mulder's skin was warm and smooth beneath her fingertips. She thought she saw his eyelids flutter at the sound of her voice.

"It's a short story. I was sent to kill him. We ended up talking. I . . . I hid him, and taught him how to hide. He taught me things, gave me books, told me things about the world that I'd never really thought about. He's so good, Scully, he does things for people, he does this," he waved the palm computer again, "for people and doesn't ask for anything in return. He told me once, early on, when I told him everything that I'd done and how ashamed I was, he told me the best way to feel better, to feel like a human being again, was to rectify my mistakes anyway that I could."

"So when they brought Mulder to you, you took care of him."

"Yeah. He-.my friend—he'd give me advice on how to take care of him, and when we decided we really couldn't do it ourselves he found that hospital in Tennessee. And he was the one who told me it wasn't safe for Mulder to be there anymore, that someone was trying to find him and we needed to hide him somewhere else. When Mulder ran away he helped me figure what to do. He's the one who recommended Al Mecham for Mulder's hearing back in March."

"And you fell in love with him."

"I couldn't help it. Well, you don't want to hear about that."

"Yes, I do. Tell me. Please."

"One night . . . we hadn't seen each other for a long time, and I showed up where he was living. As usual we talked for hours and drank a lot and howled at the moon, and he finally went to bed but I couldn't sleep. I wandered around the house and the woods right outside. There were a bunch of pebbles on the ground and I picked up a handful and started throwing them at his window. Finally he opened it up and said, 'What is it?' I said, 'I think I love you!' He said, 'Good!' and shut the window. So I went inside and went to bed, and a few minutes later he got into bed with me and put his arms around me, and said, 'You're a much better man than you think you are, Alex.'" He smiled at her shyly. "And that was that."

"That's beautiful," Scully whispered.

"I'd do anything for him. And I bet you understand that a lot better than anybody else."

"I understand that."

"Then you should also understand that Mulder would do anything for you. He'd do anything to make you happy. He's terrified of losing you. He's terrified that one day you're going to come to your senses and kick him out."

"That's ridiculous. He knows better than that."

"I don't think you could understand what it's like to love somebody you don't feel worthy of, Scully, but I do. I couldn't say no. We talked about you for hours, Scully, he told me everything, he told me all his fears about losing you and losing the children. He'd do anything to keep you."

"Including risking his life," Scully murmured, stroking Mulder's lips. "You foolish, rash man." She sniffed, suddenly realizing that there were tears on her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"Shit, Scully, I didn't mean to make you cry."

"It's the hormones. Pregnancy makes me emotional."

Krycek watched her for a few minutes, then said softly, "What's it like, being pregnant?"

"Oh." She hadn't expected that question. "It's different for every woman—"

"What's it like for you? What does it feel like?"

"It's . . . it's terrifying. It fills me with joy. I can't stop worrying and I'm so excited I can hardly bear it. I can't wait to hold her. I can't wait to find out what she's like. I daydream about what her life will be like. I want her to know her daddy," she finished softly, and Krycek sighed.

"She will."

"She'd better." She slipped her hand into Mulder's, watching his face as she stroked his forehead. She looked up at Krycek again. "Would you mind leaving us alone for a while? I'll watch over him."

"Of course. Of course I will." He laid the palm computer on the bedspread. "Keep an eye on this. If it starts flashing text messages come get me. It shouldn't," he said hastily, "but if it does, come get me. I'll make some breakfast."

"How much longer will this last?"

"Until tonight. Midnight, probably. We started it after Ben left."

She nodded, still stroking Mulder face. Midnight. It seemed like a century, an age.

"Alex?" she said softly, and he stopped on his way out.

"Yes?"

"What if it doesn't work? What will I do?"

He bit his lip and then said quietly, "You'll do what you always do, Scully. You'll endure." He left the room, closing the door behind him.

Scully took a slow deep breath and let it out. She got onto her knees and held his face in both her hands and kissed him. "How could you doubt me so much?" she whispered. "Why do you doubt me so much? Do you think I love you any less than you love me?" She leaned her forehead against his, letting her tears fall on his eyes. "Oh, Mulder. It's not a contest, you know. It's not a game. It's just love." She kissed him over and over, and then got onto the bed beside him and lay her head on his shoulder, wrapping herself around him, and prepared to wait.

============ Thirty-three ============

Even though he'd told his parents not to get up to see him off, Mulder was up and adding some things to Ben's food supply when Ben came downstairs just before six that morning. "Dried fruit," Mulder said simply.

"Thanks." Ben shoved his hands in his back pockets as he watched his father zip up the compartments of his backpack. Krycek was up as well, scrambling eggs at the stove.

"Good morning, Ben."

"Morning." Ben poured himself a glass of juice and drank it quickly. "Is Mom up too?"

"She's sleeping. Let her sleep a while longer, we were up pretty late last night. I made some iced coffee too," Mulder added. "It's in the thermos."

"Thanks," Ben said again. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to." Mulder stood up, grimacing as his knees cracked. "Getting old," he said with a slight smile.

"Maybe next year you and Mom could come with us. They make backpacks for carrying babies hiking."

"I don't think your mother likes camping."

"She doesn't—but she might like it more if you were there."

Mulder smiled again and said, "Maybe."

"Do you need anything, Ben? I made plenty," Krycek said.

"Oh, thanks, no. We're stopping on the way. I need to pick up Emma, in fact, I should be going."

"Let me help you carry something," said Mulder, so Ben handed him the guitar case. Mulder cradled it carefully in his arms while Ben carried his backpack out to his car. Despite all the troubles around his birthday, Mulder had indeed surprised him with a car: the latest model of the Volkswagen Beetle, which Ben had mentioned once or twice—or more, he wasn't sure—that he liked. It was dark metallic blue, and Ben had named it Midnight Runner.

He packed his equipment into the car carefully and followed these with the guitar, and stood by the car awkwardly for a moment before hugging Mulder tight. "See you Monday night."

"See you. Be careful." He kissed Ben's forehead and added softly, "My beautiful boy. Be careful."

"I will. Kiss Mom for me." He got into the car and started it up, waved to Mulder once more and pulled into the street to drive to Emma's.

Both Zoe and Mr. Hicks were waiting on the front porch with her, and when Ben pulled up Mr. Hicks hugged her and Zoe looked like she wanted to cry. "Can't I come too?" she said, her arms wrapped around Emma's waist.

"You said you didn't want to," Emma said.

"I changed my mind. I want to come with you."

Emma looked at Ben and sighed. "Zozo, you don't have a hiking backpack, you don't have the proper shoes—it takes time to prepare for camping trips and we don't have any more time. Our friends are expecting us right now."

"I don't care. I want to come with you."

"Zoe." Emma looked her full in the face, her expression serious. "Daddy needs you to stay with him."

Zoe sulked and sighed, but let Emma go. "Okay. Take lots of pictures for me."

"I will." That crisis averted, they loaded Emma's equipment into the car and said goodbye, and the two of them started the drive to Chris's house.

"What was that all about?" Ben said.

"It's my parent's wedding anniversary tomorrow."

"Oh." He said after a moment, "If you want to stay home everyone will understand. I'll understand."

"No, I said I'd come and I want to. This is where I want to be this weekend." She sighed and looked out the window. "I don't know if I'll be good company, though."

"Em, honey, if you'd rather be at home—"

"Ben, I want to be with you."

He pulled over to the curb, leaned over and kissed her. "Okay," he said, and she smiled at him.

^*^*^*^*^*

It was a long drive to the mountains, and they didn't start their actual hike until late that morning. Because only Chris and Ben were experienced campers, Chris's parents planned their route more for scenery than distance, with trails that wouldn't be too much of a challenge for beginners.

The group's pace was slow and easy. They sang silly songs from their childhood, some of them sketched as they went along, they played words games and recited poetry and talked about their assignments for when school resumed on Tuesday.

Ben had been walking ahead with Chris, loudly singing Monty Python songs, when he noticed Emma was at the tail end of the group and wasn't joining in any of the conversations. He thought she might as well have been in a mall for all the attention she gave to her surroundings.

"Later, lumberjacks," he said, and went back down the trail to join her just as Chris reached the verse about wearing women's clothing.

Emma glanced up at him and said, "What is it about that song that you never get tired of it?"

"It's funny. A big butch lumberjack wearing women's underwear, it's a classic."

"Uh-huh. You're Mr. Exuberant today."

"I love hiking. You know that."

"I know."

She looked at the ground and he looked at her as they walked, and he said, "Do you want some trail mix?"

"I'm not hungry."

"It's got M&M's. I put in peanut butter ones just for you."

"I'm not hungry."

Ben looked up at the sky, noticing that it was starting to darken. Rain hadn't been forecast for that weekend, but it was starting to look like it might come anyway. "I hope it doesn't rain. I brought a poncho but I hate the thing. It's so geeky."

"It's better than pneumonia."

"Slightly better."

"Ben!" Jeff called from up ahead. "Settle a question for us, would you?"

"Not now, Jeffy."

"When Galahad comes to Castle Anthrax does he meet Zoot first or does he meet the twin first?"

"He meets Zoot first."

"Told you," Jeff said to Chris, who just shrugged.

"Maybe we should have done a movie weekend instead," Emma said. "Seems to be all you want to talk about today."

"I'd rather talk about your parents but since you don't want to talk about that—"

"There's nothing to say about my parents. They were married, now they're not. The end."

He sighed and said, "How long were they married?"

"Twenty years."

"Wow. They married young."

She nodded. "My dad was twenty-one and my mom was nineteen. They waited, you know, to have kids, but you'd think in three years they'd have enough time to get accustomed to each other, that this kind of thing wouldn't happen later on."

"Em-"

"I mean, you don't just walk out of a family. How do you say that twenty years of your life wasn't important? I know my mom was unhappy but I don't think she's any happier now. Not that she calls or anything. It's so Seventies—she walked out to 'find herself.' What I want to know is where does she think she went."

"Emma." He stroked her arm gently.

"How does your mom do it? Your father is a completely different person, I bet, from when they were together before and she's a different person than he knew before, and they're still in love like that. How do they do it and—and—and my parents not? It's not fair."

It was awkward to put his arm around her with their backpacks in the way, but he hugged her to him and she finally put her arms around his shoulders and leaned her head against his neck. "Emma," he said."This is what I think. People change. And sometimes people have a hard time accepting the new person the other one's become. Maybe it was your father, maybe it was your mother, maybe it was both of them—but what I think happened is that one or both of them changed and the other couldn't get used to it.  It just happens, it's human nature."

"But your parents—"

"My parents are a case unto themselves. Believe me, I don't get it either. My dad is a drastically different person than he was, everyone tells me so. But they don't mind. Mom says he's fundamentally Mulder, and that's enough for everybody who loves him." He said, after they'd walked on a bit, "I think a big part of it is my mom lets people change around her. She's . . . secure enough in herself, if that makes sense . . . that it's okay. Does that make sense? It's just who they are. Mulder loves Mom no matter who she is, and she loves him the same way."

Emma nodded against his neck, not speaking.

"I think that's the hardest thing in the world," Ben said softly. "Accepting that someone you love isn't what you expected them to be. People get comfortable and then boom! Life changes around you and you have to get used to everything again. You know, sometimes I think my mom's a saint, putting up with the things that she does. I know I'm a different person than I was before I knew you—"

"Yeah," Emma said softly. "You are."

"And for the better, I hope. And then the whole deal with Mulder and the new baby and everything, and she's still so happy and so . . . just like she always is. The center of the storm," he said with a small chuckle. "Let me tell you about something. There's a man staying with us right now. His name is Alex Krycek. He knew my parents a long time ago and I—no one's really told much about him, but I get the feeling neither Mom nor Mulder liked him much. But, you know, now he's staying in our house. I think it's the same kind of thing: he's not the same man that they knew before and so now Mom trusts him. More than she did at first, anyway."

"How is she doing, by the way?"

"She's great. She's starting to show, have you noticed? She's really healthy. She says it's a really easy pregnancy."

"That's good." She said pensively, "The thing with you, though, is I think you've been a sociable person all along but you're just now comfortable enough to act on it. I like it, you know, don't get me wrong—it hasn't, you know, changed anything that I feel about you. But you are different from how you used to be and I bet I am too, in ways I haven't noticed."

"I don't know. To me you're the same sweet Emma."

She smiled, touching his chin gently. "I can name something. This is the longest I've ever had a boyfriend. I like that."

"I like it too," Ben said.

"Of course, that does make me wonder what's going to happen to us next year, with you at U of V and me at Yale."

"Lots and lots of email," Ben said. "Frequent car trips. Spring break together. We'll work it out."

"Uh-huh." She said slowly, "And then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"How long do you see us lasting?"

"I—I—I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

"Do you think we'll be together all our lives? I mean, really together. Do you think we'll get married after college and still be in love with each other in sixty years?"

"I don't see why not."

She sighed. "I don't know if I want it or not, though, that's the thing. I mean, my parents married young and look what happened."

"High school sweethearts get married all the time and they last all their lives—happily, too. I think if we accept, right now, right here, that we're going to be different people at the end of this year and at the end of college and twenty years from that and—and that all our lives we're going to change—then I think, yeah. Yeah. We will be happy together." He stopped walking and took both of her hands in his. "Because I promise right now, Emma, I am never going to change so much that you don't know me in the man I'm going to be."

She looked frightened and tender and hopeful, and she whispered, "Okay. I promise that too. You'll always know who I am."

"You'll always be my first love, Emma. No matter what else happens to us."

"Okay," she whispered, and hugged him. They held each other tight for a while, and then Emma sniffled and said, "We're 'way behind the others."

"We'll catch up. Just follow the sounds of 'Python Sings.' Chris always goes in exactly the order of songs on the album." He held her chin in his hand. "Are you okay now?"

"I'm okay. I'm better. Ben," she said softly, "right now I do want to be with you forever but I honestly don't know how I'll feel in ten years. Right now I can't imagine life without you."

"As long as we keep that we'll be okay, I think," he said, and they walked hand-in-hand up the trail to catch up to the others.

=========== Thirty-four ===========

Civilizations rose and fell with each rise and fall of his chest.

Scully held his hand and stroked his cheek, or lay down beside him and watched him sleep, listened to him breathe. She stood by the window, her arms wrapped tight around herself, and watched as the sky turned iron-grey with rain clouds for the first time in weeks. No rain fell, however, and it seemed to her that the gloomy day was even more hot and oppressive than a clear one.

She left Mulder's side only long enough to quickly shower and dress, and only did that because she realized she still smelled like sex and Krycek was aware she was naked beneath her bathrobe. He was polite enough not to mention it, though he did pull on a shirt of his own with a modest expression that under any other circumstances she would have found amusing.

There was no change in Mulder when she came back, and she pulled the armchair closer to the bed and curled herself up in as best she could. Krycek sat on the floor by the bed, reading a book from her study and watching the palm computer. He said, "We could spell each other, Scully."

"I don't want to leave him."

He nodded and turned the page.

"Krycek? Do you really think this is going to work?" she said softly after a while.

"Yes."

"Your faith in your friend is that strong?"

"Yes, Scully."

She was restless. She wanted to take Mulder into her arms, hold his head in her lap and stroke his hair, but she didn't dare move him that much. She walked around the room, rubbing the back of her neck, which was soon sticky with sweat.  The room was stifling even though she opened up the window. She could see sweat darkening Mulder's shirt, so she got a washcloth and some ice water and gently wiped his face, hoping to cool him down. After a few minutes of doing this Krycek took the cloth from her and gently wiped her own hot face and neck, and she smiled quietly in thanks.

"Relax, Scully," he said softly. "You're so tense."

"Can you blame me?"

He nodded, acknowledging the reproach, and said, "Still.  The day's not going to go any faster with you prowling around."

"I can't concentrate enough to read, it's too hot to garden, I don't want to leave to swim—"

"Scully." She hadn't thought his voice could be so gentle. "I'll watch over him. Go do something, anything, to pass the time.  Just go. You'll feel better, I promise."

She looked up at him for a moment then down at Mulder's serene face, and said, "Just for a little while. You'll get me if anything changes?"

"I will."

Scully left the guestroom and walked slowly down the stairs.  She couldn't think of a thing that would occupy her mind while she waited. Not her long-neglected piano, any of the books she was reading, any of the magazines waiting for her attention, no letters she wanted to write, she didn't want to drive or ride a bike or even go out into the garden.

She stood in the kitchen and looked around. Mulder and Krycek had eaten: a frying pan, washed and dried, sat in the dish rack along with two plates and cups. She had not eaten though she supposed that she should.

There was raisin bread in the breadbox. She toasted two pieces and ate them with some butter, and peeled an orange though she ate just a few slices of that. She drank a glass of milk, eyeing the coffeepot.

Bread, she thought. I'll make bread. That will keep me occupied for a while.

There was dry yeast and flour, white and wheat, in the pantry: Mulder's doing, he liked to bake. She found a recipe in one of the books she never used that seemed simple enough, and soon had water boiling for the yeast and started sifting flour. It was comforting, like being rocked to sleep. It felt fundamental.

This is what people did a hundred years ago, she thought. When they thought they couldn't bear their lives anymore they just did, they plowed and they planted and they sewed. So when people ask me later, what were you doing when your lover died I'll tell them, I was baking bread.

She dropped the sifter and put her hand to her eyes, stifling a sob. "You can't die, Mulder," she whispered fiercely, "I won't let you."

She took a deep breath and lifted her head, took another deep breath and slowly let it out.

"Just bake bread," she said slowly, and went back to her recipe.

^*^*^*^*^*

While the dough was rising she washed her hands and went back upstairs, surprised to see that almost an hour had passed.  The situation in the guestroom appeared unchanged, though Krycek had dozed off again. She took the book from his hands, marked his place and put it aside, and sat down at Mulder's side again.

He was so beautiful to her. It was impossible to imagine going back to a life without him. What would she tell her baby about him—that he was here for a short time and then was gone again? How would she understand that?

She ran her fingertips down his neck.  His skin was warm but not feverishly so. She kissed his forehead and his eyes moved beneath their lids.

"Are you dreaming, dear?" she said, and Krycek mumbled something, his head lolling against the wall.  Scully smiled despite herself and wondered if his lover talked to him while he slept.

She lay down on the bed again and put her head on his shoulder. It was too uncomfortable to lie on her stomach but on her side was okay. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and stroked her stomach slowly.

"You picked a hell of a time to become an experiment, Mulder," she whispered. "Not that I can really think of a better time. 'Never' would be perfect."

She closed her eyes, willing herself to relax a little. A nap would be in order, if she could relax enough to sleep.

And while she was lying there it happened, what she'd been hoping and longing for: the flutter of movement of her baby's tiny limbs.

"Oh my God." She rolled onto her back with her hands on her stomach. "Move again, move again," she whispered, and gave a delighted gasp when yes, there was movement, tiny delicate movement.

Her elation passed quickly though, and she turned to Mulder and said, "See what you're missing? See what this is costing you? Our baby is moving, Mulder, I can feel our baby move and I can't even share it with you."

She laid down her head again, her hands on her stomach, smiling whenever she felt the little flutter once more.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Punching down bread dough was wonderfully therapeutic. Each time her fist sank into the dough Scully felt her shoulders loosen, her fear relent a little. Swearing at it helped too, though she mostly did that under her breath.

She turned the dough into the bread pan and shaped it into a loaf, laid a cloth over it and set it aside to rise again.  The baby was still while she was upright but whenever she sat down and put her feet up, if she waited long enough the fluttering started again. Scully imagined her baby repositioning herself to adjust to her movements, trying to find a comfortable place.

It was more reassuring than any test. Her baby was thriving—quickening, her mother had called it when she told her she'd felt Ben move. Quickening. Yes, she liked that. It sounded full of hope and promise.

Scully went back upstairs again. Krycek was awake now, sitting in the armchair and leaning his head on his hand. His expression was distant, though he looked up at her when she came into the room.

"Did you find something?"

"I'm making bread." She sat down on the edge of the bed and started to rub Mulder's feet. "Whole-wheat bread. It has helped, thank you for the suggestion."

"Sure. Voice of experience."

"Tell me."

He glanced at her and said, "There's not much to it. One time my friend was injured and he told me, just before he entered the sleep, he said to me, 'If you stay here moping you're going to be miserable, so go away and don't come back until we're done.' So I did. And I wasn't as miserable as I probably would have been."

"What did you do?"

"Chopped firewood." He laughed with embarrassment. "I chopped enough to last all year 'round, but it was easier than thinking."

"How did it work for you?" Scully asked softly. "Your arm, I mean."

"He had me gain about ten pounds and the nanites used the excess body fat to make my new arm."

Scully considered that and said, "I suppose it's pointless of me to say that's impossible."

"You of all people should know that nothing is impossible, only improbable." He waved his fingers at her as a reminder.

She chuckled but had to admit that he was right. It did seem that way, in her life at least.

She said softly, looking at Mulder and still rubbing his feet, "He does remember things. He'll say something or make a joke that he's said before, but when I remind him of it or mention it later he looks at me as if he doesn't know what I'm talking about. It's coming back to him, slowly."

Krycek nodded. "That happens a lot with mind-wipe victims, I've heard."

"I see." She added, "I felt the baby move."

"Scully," Krycek said, pleased.

She smiled. "The first time. It's a wonderful moment. It helps make it real, that this is a real person inside me. The only thing I look forward more is when other people can feel her move too."

"So other than that pregnancy is just a big hassle."

She chuckled again and said, "Well . . . yes. There's heartburn, the nausea, the swelling ankles, the sensitivity to smell, the discomfort . . . in about five months I'll be all stomach . . . but it's worth it. It really is. I love being a mother. I can't even explain it. I just do."

He nodded, his face pensive.

She said softly, "Did you never want to be a father? If that's not a dumb question."

He hesitated, and said, "When I was younger I had other things to think about, and now . . . I've got all the family I need. I like women just fine, I just never—well, it took my friend to convince me I could stay with someone a long time, and reproduction's kind of moot with us."

"And you don't mind that?'

"No. It's not who we are. Any extra love," he grinned a bit at this, "we have lying around goes towards his patients. You, on the other hand, you're very maternal."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"That didn't sound the way I meant it. I mean you're generous with yourself and that lends itself to motherhood very well, I think."

"Thank you," she said again. "It's time for me to put the bread in the oven." She got up from the bed and kissed Mulder gently, and went downstairs again.

^*^*^*^*^

By one a.m. Scully had made four loaves of bread, two cakes and a batch of cookies. The house smelled wonderful though it was still hot, even with all the windows open.

Scully was too tired to bake anymore, so she sat in the window seat with her feet up and hands on her stomach. It had already gone longer than Krycek's estimate, but he told her everything seemed fine, they just had to wait. So she waited.

There a brisk wind blew through the window, ruffling the curtains. There were low rumbles of thunder and the smell of rain in the air. Maybe a storm would come after all.

Scully sighed and looked out the window again, closing her eyes as the wind brushed her face. Please rain, she thought. It hadn't rained since July and she missed it, from the sweet smell in the air to the sound of raindrops. It would be such a relief after the heat wave.

"Scully!" She started up as she heard Krycek thumping down the stairs.

"Is he dead?"

"No." He leaned over the banister to talk to her. "He's awake. Come see." 

Scully followed as quickly as she could, gnawing her lip. Not dead. He wasn't dead.

Krycek had turned the light on and pulled back the curtains, and he sat at the foot of the bed. His face was solemn, and Mulder's eyes were open. "Scully," he said softly when he saw her.

"Hi, baby." She sat down at his other side and took his hand in both of hers. "How do you feel?"

"I'm okay." Mulder smiled and put his hand on top of both of theirs.

"How are you?"

"Relieved yet furious, but we'll talk more about that later. Mulder. What do you remember?"

He looked at Krycek and bit his lip. There was a rumble of thunder outside and the soft patter of raindrops began, and Mulder said quietly, "Everything."

=========== Thirty-five ===========

Mulder was so weak that Krycek had to help him to the master bedroom, and Scully helped Mulder change clothes and lie down. "I'll be right back," she said,  stroking his face, and Mulder nodded and closed his eyes.

Scully went quickly through the house to make sure all the windows were shut, and when she came down the stairs she saw Krycek standing in the back doorway, smoking a cigarette and watching the rain. He looked embarrassed when he saw her and waved his hand in the air to dissipate the smoke. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Will you shut up everything when you go to bed?"

"Sure. It's a nice night, really. It's been so hot."

"Uh-huh." They stood there for a few minutes, watching the rain in silence. Scully said, "So will you tell your friend about this?"

"I will. He'll be pleased."

"When will you see him again?"

"Oh . . . " He sighed. "A week or two, at the most. It always takes a bit of doing to get—ah, to wherever he is."

"But still you go."

"Of course."

"For some reason I picture him red-haired."

"You're close. Chestnut. He's tall and very thin—he's always forgetting to eat. He's really one of those absent-minded professor types. He's always wearing mismatched socks." He smiled, taking a drag on his cigarette.

"You know," Scully said hesitantly, "if you ever feel it's safe enough, I would love for both of you to visit us again."

He nodded slowly. "Thanks. I don't know if that time will ever come, but if it does you'll see us."

"All right. Good night." Slowly Scully went back upstairs. It appeared that Mulder had fallen asleep. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand again, and slowly stroked it as she watched his face.

"Scully?" he whispered.

"I thought you were sleeping."

"Not yet." He looked at her through half-shut eyelids. "You look tired."

"I am. I've had a harrowing day."

He sighed. "I thought it was worth the risk, Scully—I still think it's worth it."

"I hope you're right," she said more coldly than she intended, and Mulder sighed again and took his hand from hers to cup her face.

"Scully. I know I can't convince you of my reasons but will you just believe they're valid?"

"Krycek told me your reasons. You know, I hope someday you realize you don't have to prove anything to me, you don't have to be anything other that who you are. I've put up with a lot worse from you."

"I know who I am now," Mulder said. "I know my history."

"What if you had died? Did you consider that? Did you think about how the rest of us—how your family would have to cope if you died?" She stopped, clenching her lips together, and Mulder looked at her sorrowfully. "I don't know when I can forgive that carelessness, Mulder."

"You're mad at me."

"Yes, I am! And I think I have a right to be! You took a foolhardy chance with a life that's very important to me and I just—I can't—I'm furious with you. Absolutely furious. Do you feel different? Do you feel better? What do you really remember? Tell me anything you remember."

He studied her and said softly, covering her shaking hands with his, "The moon is made of cheese, Scully."

She whimpered and tugged on her hands. "Stop it."

"Thunder is actually caused by angels playing baseball."

It was impossible to hold onto her anger when his voice was so loving, his eyes so sorrowful. "Stop it," she whispered again, knowing he wouldn't.

He brought her hands to his mouth and kissed them. "I remember—if not everything yet, I remember so much. I remember the way you looked that night. I remember the joy that filled me when we kissed. I remember how our hands shook and how we cried and how sweet it was to make love to you," he finished in a soft whisper.

"Tell me more." She tried to keep her voice firm, and he sighed.

"I remember being homeless and how terrible that was. I was frightened all the time, I was hungry and cold and I was looking for something terribly important but I couldn't remember what it was.  I remember thinking every unfamiliar face was there to kill me."

"Mulder . . ." she whispered, and then said, still trying to be firm, "Tell me more."

He took a deep breath and said deliberately and carefully, "We made love that morning. It was slow and gentle. We wanted to laze around, do nothing all day. I kissed you and got up and said 'Let's read the comics in bed' and you said 'Hurry back.' I got dressed and went to the hallway to get the paper, and I was reading the headlines when I realized there were other people in the hallway." He took a deep breath, tightening his grip on her hands. "There were three of them.White men in dark suits. They circled me very quickly and one of them stunned me with a taser—so things are blurry for a while after that.

"What I remember next is being on the floor of a car, face-down. My hands were tied behind my back. One of the men had his foot on my neck, and when I tried to push myself up he pressed down and said, 'Don't move, Fox.' So I didn't move, I waited. After a long time—and we'd been traveling a long time already, the floor of the car was hot—we stopped. The guy in back with me didn't take his foot off my neck until the other two had gotten out. He pulled me up and put a cloth sack over my head. They took me into a building and tied me to a chair." He stopped, frowning, and said, "The floor was cement and it was very cold."

She stroked his hands and waited for him to continue, which he did even more softly. "I heard a click and felt warmth through the bag, and when they took the bag off my head there was a—an insanely bright light shining in my face. One of them grabbed my head and forced me to look into it, and another one taped my eyes open with duct tape."

"Oh, Mulder."

"The other one—the one who'd talked to me before—he started asking me questions. What's my name, who is my mother, who is my father, what year was I born. Stupid questions, obvious questions. I answered them, though. I answered them for hours, the same questions, over and over. How long have I been in the FBI. Where did I go to college.Where was I born.

"Then he started asking questions about you. I was exhausted, cold, thirsty, sweating. I just wanted to close my eyes and he kept pressing me. 'What's Agent's Scully's middle name? How long have you known each other? Where did you meet?' And then he leaned forward and said, 'You're fucking her, aren't you, Fox? You're sleeping with the lovely Agent Scully. I bet her juice is still all over your cock, isn't it.' He had them pull me to my feet and they yanked off my pajamas, and he grabbed my balls and said 'You're an animal.You're just an animal, Fox.' He squeezed—" Mulder stopped and cleared his throat. "He squeezed and let go and they let me fall to the floor, and I lay there groaning for a while."

Scully leaned over and kissed him gently. "Tell me all of it."

He nodded and said, "It would be easier if you'd lie down and let me hold you, Scully." She lay down and he wrapped himself around her, burying his face in her neck. After a moment he moved back his head a little so he could talk to her, and he went on, his eyes closed and his voice low, "They let me lie there for a while, naked with my eyes taped open and my hands tied behind my back. It was so cold. I was afraid for you, I was afraid they'd drag you in next and they'd make me watch you go through this too. I remember I couldn't stop whispering your name, just 'Scully Scully Scully' over and over.

"The leader, I guess, the guy who'd been asking me the questions, came back with a bottle of water, and he said 'Thirsty, Fox?' I nodded and he made this oh, that's too bad, noise and poured out all the water from the bottle onto the floor, just beyond my reach. When I tried to move towards it he kicked me in the ribs.He knelt down and he said to me, 'You're nothing, you know that, you're a creature created in a lab,' and I said, 'I'm Fox Mulder' and he said 'You're a cheap copy' and he spat in my face. He said, 'You don't belong anywhere. You belong to me.'"

He had to stop again and Scully stroked his hair and kissed his face as he lay in her arms, shuddering. Finally she said, "If it's too hard it can wait, Mulder, it can wait until you're more ready to deal with it."

"I want to tell you now. I think it will be easier to handle if I talk about it." He gave her a ghost of a smile. "I haven't been able to tell anyone about it for seventeen years, after all."

"Then I'll listen, Mulder."

He took a deep breath and took her hand and pressed her palm to his chest. "The upshot of it, Scully, is that they tortured me. They left me naked in an unheated warehouse in December, rarely fed me or gave me something to drink, and always with the questions. If I refused to answer them—or couldn't answer them—they'd hurt me. He'd let the two big guys punch and kick me until their hands bled. They'd tape my eyes open and do the thing with the light. They sometimes let me have a blanket and it was ancient, tattered, it smelled like horse shit and it didn't help much. If I put it on the floor my body was cold and if I put it over me I was right on the cold floor. It was too small to wrap around me. I suppose it was inevitable that I got pneumonia."

"Mulder," she whispered and held him close again, kissing his hair.

"Fever, chills, coughing up gunk, the whole works. I heard the leader tell the other two, 'Leave him alone. Burn the body.' I was delirious and I dreamed about you, that you were with me in that awful place and they were hurting you and laughing at me because I was helpless.

"And then . . ." He paused, frowning. "I'm not sure how much of this is real and what I dreamed. I remember people coming into the warehouse, new people. They shot the others. One of them knelt down next to me and put his hand on my head. He didn't say anything but he looked at me so sadly, and I got a feeling from him—no, not a feeling. I could hear his voice in my head. He told me, Don't worry, we'll take care of you. They wrapped me up in blankets and one of them carried me out, and behind us the warehouse was on fire."

"Who were they?"

"I'm not sure. Our allies, I think. Rebels. The next thing I remember clearly is being in a bright room, but it didn't frighten me. I knew it was sunshine coming in through the window. The people didn't say anything to me but they'd smile and they were very gentle with me. They fed me and bathed me and when they saw my cuts and bruises I could feel how angry they were about how I'd been mistreated.  I was with them a long time, recovering. I got over the pneumonia and my injuries healed. And then one day I woke up to find a lot of them in the room, and I felt a needle sink into my head while they all watched and waited."

He bit his lip. "This is the impression that I have. They thought if they erased it, erased that experience, that it would be better for me. But they weren't experienced with the technology. They tried to erase a few days and ended up taking my whole life."

"Mulder," she whispered again, and when he started kissing her face she closed her eyes and realized she was crying.

"When they understood what they'd done they didn't know how to fix it, and they were afraid. I was like a baby, completely helpless. I guess Krycek had helped them, or something, before, so they took me to him and had one of their people who could speak tell him as much as they could. And then they left."

Scully didn't know what to say—it was like what she had imagined happened to him, but to actually hear it was terrible, heart- wrenching. She stroked her hands through his hair and kissed him again and again, unable to stop crying even as he kissed her and murmured, "Sh. It's all over now. Sh. Sh."

"I should be comforting you," she whispered eventually, and he shook his head.

"Just hold onto me, Scully."

"I'm never letting you go again." She pressed her face to his hair. "Never again, Mulder. Never."

He sighed, his breath brushing the skin of her neck, and whispered, "I know." He kissed her and looked into her eyes. "Go to sleep now, Scully. And hold me tight, okay?"

"Okay," she said, and did.

^*^*^*^*^*

Even though it felt late in the morning the bedroom was still dim.Mulder propped his head up on his arm and watched Scully as she slept. Just the sight of her face brought a deluge of memories, and he leaned his forehead against hers sometimes and inhaled the scent of her hair to remind himself he was in the present now.

It was overwhelming in a way he wasn't sure he could explain. He could remember. There were periods that were blurry and uncertain but there were more that were sharp and distinct. He remembered Samantha. He remembered his mother and his father, both before and after Samantha's disappearance and how drastically the family had changed.He remembered friends from his childhood, their dog who'd died when he was fourteen, that he'd gotten up to Elvis 54 with his goldfish.He remembered Phoebe, Diana, Kristen, Bambi and Angela. He remembered fears and frustrations and the rare triumphs. He remembered his few friends of adulthood, the sacrifices they had made on his behalf.

But most of all he remembered Scully. He remembered meeting her, liking her, loving her in silent desperation—and the exhilaration that filled him when he realized, long before she said the words, that she loved him too.

And he remembered her voice in the darkness, breaking through a fog of medication and fear, and the knowledge that his angel had come to take him home.

He caressed under her chin with his fingertips and she turned her head away a little, and then towards him again.  His fingers traveled up the side of her face to fondle her earlobe and then ease into her hair, and he rubbed her scalp soothingly while she made soft sounds in her throat. Her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled at him.

"Hi."

"Hi." He thought, Her eyes are never as blue as they are when she first wakes up, and he remembered thinking that before, too.

"Did you sleep?"

"No, but it's okay, I didn't think I would."

"How do you feel?" She pressed her hand to the side of his face and his forehead, and he took her hand and kissed it.

"Tired, but that's all. I feel okay."

"You don't have a headache or anything?"

"Nothing. I'm hungry," he added, thinking about it.

"We have a lot of fresh bread."

"You made bread? Dana 'I'm not domestic' Scully made bread?"

"I had to get through the day somehow. Krycek recommended I do something to occupy my mind, so I baked. We have two loaves of whole-wheat bread and two loaves of sourdough, a chocolate cake, a strawberry cake and a batch of chocolate-chip cookies."

"Wow," he said in admiration. "I ought to get sick more often."

"You weren't sick, Mulder, or do I need to remind you of exactly what happened? And you'd better not do anything like it again, either. Ever. I mean it." She looked as fierce as she could in the circumstances, lying beneath him and tousled with sleep. "I will admit that if I had any lingering doubts that you are the real Mulder that escapade has entirely erased them."

"Meaning what, exactly?" he said, furrowing his forehead.

"Meaning only the real Mulder would be that careless with his health and take such a foolish risk on such a slim chance."

"You think it was foolish?"

"Yes, and you knew that before you did it but you did it anyway. That hurts, Mulder. I feel like you don't trust me."

"Of course I trust you. Who else would I trust? But I think it was a worthwhile chance and a risk worth taking-"

"Worthwhile enough that first you had to fuck me into oblivion, so I wouldn't notice what you were up to. Do I need to tell you how much that hurts?"

Mulder sat up, wincing as his head reeled, and moved back to lean against the headboard. "I thought of it more along the lines of a goodbye in case things didn't work out—"

"Either way, I feel used."

"Scully—" He looked at her helplessly. "I don't know what to say. I really don't. I don't think there's anything I can say to make this better."

She moved closer to him and put her hand on his arm, and rubbed it slowly up and down. "What I would like to hear is that you're going to take this family seriously now."

"I do take it seriously. I did this for you—I did this for us, for our future, so we wouldn't be afraid of me having a complete meltdown—"

"I wasn't afraid of that."

"Well, I was."

They looked at each other for a moment, and Scully sighed and removed her hand from his arm. "We still have some fresh strawberries. How does wheat bread with butter and honey and strawberries in cream sound?"

"Perfect," he said despondently, and watched her get up and take off the clothes she'd slept in. He said, "Scully."

"Hm." She didn't pause in buttoning up a fresh shirt.

"Do you forgive me?"

She looked up at him and came back to the bed. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, long and deep. She whispered, "Give me time and I will," kissed him again and left the room.

Mulder sighed again and leaned back against the headboard again.

This was not the delighted result he'd hoped for. There was something he could do, but Scully never accepted as gesture as an apology. She'd still be upset with him.

Well.

Mulder forced himself to his feet, waveringly a little, and got a gift bag from his side of the closet. He went down the stairs slowly, holding onto the banister, and went into the kitchen.

Scully was slicing a dark loaf of bread. The bowls of strawberries were already out as well as a small pitcher of milk, and she had poured glasses of orange juice as well. She put down the knife when she saw him. "Mulder, you should be resting."

"I want to give you this." He set the bag on the counter. "When Ben and I were shopping for his trip we made a few detours." He pulled up one of the stools and sat down carefully.

Scully untied the bow that closed the bag and pushed aside the tissue paper, and drew out a large dream catcher, decorated with feathers and chunks of turquoise. "Mulder. It's beautiful."

"I hoped you'd like it." He pointed to one of the leather cords that hung from one side. "Especially that."

She followed the cord to the object tied to the end, and gasped. "Mulder?"

"If it doesn't fit we can take it back and have it resized."

"Mulder, it's&#8212;it's—" She held the ring in her palm and looked at him.

Mulder reached over and untied the ring from the cord, and slipped it onto the end of his first finger. "Four stones for the four of us. Sapphires for your eyes. Platinum because—because I like platinum. If you don't like it—"

"It's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen," Scully whispered and put her hand to her mouth.  Her eyes sparkled like the sapphires. "This doesn't change a thing, you know," she said, trying to sound stern.

"I know. Will you wear it anyway?"

"Of course I will," she said, so he slipped the ring onto her finger. "Did you do all of this because I didn't want to set a date?"

"No. I just want to remind you that you made me a promise and I intend to see that you keep it."

She turned her hand towards the window and watched the stones glitter in the morning light. "There's something I haven't told you."

"Oh?"

"I felt the baby move yesterday."

Mulder couldn't stop the huge grin that spread over his face. "You did?"

"I did. Several times, in fact. While I was lying next to you, watching over you. She moved a little this morning, too."

"Scully, that's wonderful. I can't wait until I can feel it."

"Me too," she said softly. She smiled a tiny bit. "The four of us? What if we have more children?"

He smiled back. "Then I'll buy you another ring."

=========== Thirty-six ===========

"Nice of you to make breakfast," Krycek said as he drank the last of his coffee.

"Not at all. It was hardly 'making breakfast', anyway, just some slicing and pouring." Scully wiped the counter slowly. Her eyes were on Mulder, who lay on the couch under a blanket, with his arm over his eyes. She knew he was awake. She suspected he was watching her. Knowing this made her tingle from her lips to her toes, but she had no idea what to do about it.

"Well, thank you anyway," Krycek said. "I—uh—I'm going to go today, I think. I think it's time I get home."

"Oh," Scully said, and Mulder took his arm away from his eyes. "All right. Are you driving?"

"It's safest. I'll be out of your way in an hour."

"You're welcome to stay here longer, if you need to."

"No—thanks—but I want to get home." He wiped his mouth and crumpled his napkin. "In fact I'll be on my way, there's no point in waiting." He got up from the counter and kissed Scully on the cheek, as if he wasn't aware he was doing it. They both paused and smiled at each other awkwardly, and Krycek ducked his head and went upstairs.

After a moment Scully noticed Mulder was looking at her with puzzled expression. Scully went to the couch and sat down on the edge, and kissed him. "I don't know why he did that and I'm sure he doesn't either."

"Just our complicated, messy, incestuous lives," Mulder said."Everyone I knew was in love with you."

"Krycek's not in love with me. He's gay, I think."

"Even so it wouldn't surprise me if he was a little in love with you too. You have that effect on people."

Scully made a disbelieving sound and smoothed down his eyebrow with her thumb. "You rest. Rest, Mulder."

"I'm resting," he said, lying back down, and his hand tugged on hers until she lay down beside him. "See? I'm resting."

She nuzzled his shoulder a moment then said, "I need to clean up breakfast."

"Just a minute more. Rest with me." He raised her left hand and turned it towards the window, catching the dim sunlight on the stones. Outside, a fine mist had just started to burn off in the morning sun. "It looks pretty good, don't you think?"

"It's beautiful. It's perfect."

"Good." He kissed the inside of her wrist and laid her hand on his chest.

"Mulder?'

"Yeah?"

"Let's set a date."

"Okay," and she could hear him smiling.

"After the baby's born, because I don't want to be pregnant in my wedding pictures. While Ben's off track, but before he leaves for college."

"Of course."

"Not the end of summer. It's too hot in July for anything decent. But I don't want anything formal, either—at this point something formal would be kind of ridiculous."

"All right, informal. Small?"

"Small. Close friends and family." She thought a moment and said, "Spring."

"Spring. April or May."

"May," Scully said. "Early May." She nuzzled his shoulder again and then sat up. "I really must clean up breakfast now. Stay here."

"Yes, ma'am." He grabbed her hand and squeezed it quickly before she walked away.

^*^*^*^*^*

It wasn't long before Krycek jogged back downstairs, his clothes changed and his meager belongings in his duffel bag. He shook Scully's hand again and said, "Thank you. Particularly for not hating me completely."

"Never," she said, and he looked at her as if he knew she was lying but was grateful for it anyway. "Be safe, Krycek."

"Thanks." He went to the couch and Mulder pushed himself up to sit. They shook hands heartily. "Take good care of them," he said softly.

"I will. And you'd better come see us again."

"We'll see. Say goodbye to Ben for me."

"I will." Mulder watched Scully take Krycek to the door, and then he threw back the blanket and got to his feet. "One more thing," he said to Scully, and followed Krycek outside to his car.

"Alex!" he called, and Krycek turned and leaned against the car door.

"What is it?"

"Thank you—for everything—I mean it. You've done so much for us. Nothing that's happened to us all this year would be possible without you. I want you to know we're grateful. I'm grateful. I can't thank you enough and I'm serious in wanting you to come back. We want to see you again."

Krycek shook his head, looking away. "I couldn't. Really. I mean, you're normal suburbia here, your house and your kids and everything—"

"Oh, yeah, we're a normal family. Be serious."

"I don't fit in here," Krycek said. "I never have. I'm okay with it, though. It's not so bad, living on the fringes of society."

"At least let us know that you're all right sometimes, okay? And you can turn to us if you're ever in trouble."

"Mulder, you don't get it. It's safer for me not to. It's safer for you. You've got a family in there, people who rely on you. You've got to protect that. Don't ask for trouble with my friendship, okay?"

"Alex," Mulder said again, but Krycek just shook his head again.

"This is goodbye, Mulder. It's been a strange trip but it's over now. You won't be seeing me again."

"You're the closest thing I've ever had to a brother," Mulder said, and Krycek closed his eyes for a moment. He threw his duffel bag in the car and took Mulder's head in his hands and kissed him, once, quick, hard. Mulder was too stunned to even pull away, and when Krycek let him go he only stood there and watched as Krycek got into his car. His tires squealed on the pavement as he drove away.

After a minute or two Mulder collected himself enough to go back into the house, where Scully was reading the paper at the kitchen counter. "Are you okay? You look pale."

"I'm okay."

"Did you say goodbye?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I don't think he'll be coming back anytime, though."

"Why is that? What did you say to him?"

"I said he was welcome to but he was adamant about it. He doesn't think it's safe." He added after a moment, "He kissed me."

"He did?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well." She crackled the paper. "There goes your 'he's in love with me' theory."

"I—I don't know.  I think it's wrong to interpret that as sexual."

"Then how would you interpret it?"

"As final." She reached over and stroked his cheek with her forefinger. "He was saying goodbye. He's eased his conscience and we're not going to see him again."

"If he's so certain there's still a danger to us maybe that's for the best. I will miss him popping up out of nowhere, though. It was fun having a guardian angel for a while."

Mulder smiled at that and thought, I've still got mine.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Monday evening, a tired, grimy and slightly sore Ben pulled his car up to the curb in front of his house and turned off the engine. His house looked perfectly normal, which relieved him. Nothing drastic had happened while he was away.

He climbed out of the car and pulled out his backpack from the trunk. His boots were encrusted with mud, so he sat down on the front steps and pulled them off along with his sweaty socks. He wrinkled his nose and stuffed his socks into his shoes, got up again and opened the front door. "Hello? I'm home!"

"Benjie!" His mother met him in the front hall and hugged him briefly before stepping away. "Didn't have a chance to shower, did you."

"Nope, sorry. I'm kinda stinky. I'm gonna dump these in the garage and take a shower. How was your weekend?" he said on his way to the garage.

"Oh. It was, um . . . we had an adventure."

"What happened?"

"Your father and Krycek conducted an experiment—well, you'll see when you see Mulder. He's—ah—he's a little different."

"Different? Different how? Did he have another seizure?"

"No. You'll see. Do you want me to make you some dinner while you're in the shower?"

"Please," Ben said, and took his dirty equipment to the garage to tend to later. He went upstairs, and on his way he noticed the smell of paint from the guestroom. He went to the guestroom to see what they'd done in his absence.

The big double bed had been taken out as well as the armchair and the lone bookshelf. They'd taken down the curtains, and repainted the walls a soft off-white. Mulder knelt by the window, doing the detailed painting around the windowsill while he whistled along to the radio.

"Hey, Mulder," Ben said.

"Hey, Benjie. Welcome home. How was your trip?"

"It was good. It was a lot of fun. Mom said you and Krycek did something this weekend?"

"Yeah, we did. Do you notice anything different?"

"With the room?"

"With me," Mulder said.

"Um . . . no . . . well, your voice is different."

"Uh-huh." He turned back to his painting, carefully drawing the small brush along the masking tape beneath the sill. "We did a procedure that brought my memory back."

"Wow. Is that possible?"

"Not just possible, but completed successfully. Best of all, no more seizures."

"That's great! That's really great. So you remember, like, things from your childhood and stuff?"

"Yes. Ask me anything."

Ben put his hands on his hips and said, "Tell me what your father was like when you were a boy."

Mulder put down his brush and leaned back on his heels. "Before or after my sister was abducted?"

"Before."

"Before." He sighed. "He, actually, was not that bad of a father. My family was pretty normal before. We were Indian Guides together so I learned a bit about camping and the outdoors. We played catch, he taught me to swim and to ride a bike, all those normal things. I remember being six or so and watching him shave, so he sprayed some shaving cream on my face and taught me to shave with a razor without a blade."

"Mom had Uncle Charlie teach me to shave. She said she couldn't see applying the knowledge of shaving legs to shaving faces."

Mulder laughed. "That was probably a wise choice."

Ben watched him as he picked up the paintbrush again and continued to paint, and then he said softly, "So does this mean you know what happened to you?"

The brush paused, and Mulder said, "Yes. I do."

"I'm going to take a shower, will you tell me when I'm done?"

"It's not a happy story, Ben."

"I want to know."

Mulder nodded, still painting with a steady hand. "All right. Go take your shower and I'll tell you the whole thing."

"Thanks, Dad." He added, "It's good to have you home."

"It's good to be home," Mulder said and went on painting.

======== Epilogue ========

the following May

Ten minutes until the wedding and the small church was already full.

"I didn't think we even knew so many people," Ben said, peering through the doorway from the groom's dressing room to the chapel.

"It's full, as in completely full?" Mulder sighed. "I don't want to look."

"Nervous?" Ben grinned at him.

"Of course not—getting married to the love of my life is a snap. Especially in front of everybody we know." He ran his hands through his hair and made face. "I look old."

"You look fine."

"I look old enough to be her father."

"No, you don't, stop it. I'm going to go see what Mom's up to."

"Tell her I'm counting the minutes," Mulder said, retying his tie.

Ben left the dressing room and crossed the chapel quickly. He stopped for just a few minutes to say hello to Emma and her family, and give her a quick kiss. "Ten years," he whispered to her, and she blushed.

His mother was getting ready with Maggie and Aunt Tara in the bride's dressing room. He knocked briskly on the door. "It's me."

Tara opened the door and let him in, shutting the door behind him.

"How is Mulder doing?"

"He's nervous. How's my mom?"

"I am not nervous," Scully said quickly before anyone else could answer. She sat at the makeup table, her lipstick in her hand. "And if anyone says one more thing about being nervous I'm going to run screaming through the chapel."

"Dad says he's counting the minutes." Ben plumped himself down on the floor by the carrier seat. "Lily's the calmest one here, I think."

"Only because she's completely oblivious." Scully smiled down at them briefly and went back to carefully lining her lips.

Lily blinked her baby-blue eyes at Ben and wrapped her hand around the finger he offered her.  "That's true," Ben said, grinning at her, "if it doesn't involve milk or diapers what does Lily care?" She smiled back at him toothlessly and tugged his finger into her mouth.She was the world's tiniest bridesmaid, wearing her christening gown and a white lace headband.

"I was hoping she'd nap but she wouldn't go down. Benjie, if she gets fussy during the ceremony will you take her? You calm her down better than anyone."

"Except Dad."

"Well, he'll be busy." She capped her lipstick and stood up carefully, removing the tissue paper she'd tucked into her collar to protect her dress. It was a white satin double-breasted suitdress with large buttons and a short skirt, and she spent a few minutes adjusting it in the mirror. "Okay. The bride is ready."

"The countdown's on. Will you give me a tissue? Lily's been using me as a pacifier again."

Maggie gave him a box of Kleenex and he pulled his finger from Lily's mouth and wiped it off. He kissed her smooth hot forehead and she blinked at him again and sighed as if it was all too taxing.

"Hang on, Lily-Fair," he said and got to his feet. "Should I take her out so the relatives can ooh and ahh over her?"

"It'll get her too excited. Plenty of time for that later." Scully knelt down on the floor by the carrier seat and kissed Lily a time or two, and Lily growled and kicked her feet. "It's Mommy and Daddy's wedding day, are you excited, my little beauty?"

"I think I should take her out," Ben said.

"What if she spits up on your suit?"

"I'll wipe it off."

"Okay," Scully said, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "Take her out of the seat, show her off to everybody, but I would like a calm baby when this whole thing starts, okay? Please?"

"We'll be good," Ben said, and unbuckled the carrier seat and lifted Lily up. She gave him one of her baby-hugs, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment, and he kissed her again. "I'll be back," he said, and ducked out of the dressing room.

As he knew they would be, at once they were surrounded by people who wanted to see the baby. Lily was used to this—her beauty drew attention wherever they went—and gazed at them all with a queenly calm.

"I'm taking her to see Dad," Ben said to everyone, and wove their way through the people to the other side of the chapel. Lily tugged on her headband and gurgled at him, and Ben gurgled right back.

"Just what I need," Mulder said when Ben opened the door, and held out his arms. Lily squealed and gave him a sloppy baby-kiss as Mulder wrapped her up in his arms. "Here's my precious girl. How is Scully?"

"Nervous."

He nodded. "It's contagious. Were you mobbed when you brought Lily- Fair out?"

"Of course. You'd think no one has ever seen a baby before."

"That's because she's such a precious princess," Mulder cooed to her, and Lily grabbed his nose.

The dressing room door opened and Frohike stuck his head in. "Dude, we're ready for you."

"Show time," Mulder said, and gave Lily back to Ben. "Get me when you've taken her back to Scully and we'll take our places."

"I'll take her back," Frohike said, so Lily was handed off again. "I can see the bride, after all." He left the dressing room, talking to Lily while she babbled happily.

Ben checked his hair and his tie, and scanned his suit for drool or spit-up. He gave a tissue to Mulder, who quickly wiped his fingers and his face. "Okay. I am ready."

They left the dressing room and took their places at the front of the chapel in front of the priest. The organist ended the soothing prelude music and started the bridal march, and everyone in the church stood up.

First Maggie came down the aisle, carrying Lily. The sight of the two of them drew the expected "aww"s. Ben grinned and exchanged glances with Mulder, who stood there looking quietly proud and expectant.

Then Scully appeared at the back of the church, holding her bouquet of white and yellow roses. She held herself very straight and dignified, and took the walk down the aisle with her eyes fixed on Mulder. They both wore smiles that were private and deep.

When she reached the end of the aisle she gave the bouquet to Maggie, who kissed her and whispered something to her that caused Scully to lean her forehead against Maggie's a moment. She kissed Lily as well, and took her place at Mulder's side. They joined hands and the congregation sat down.

"Well," the priest said, "I think everyone has been waiting for this day a very long time. Better late than never, right?" Everyone chuckled, and Mulder and Scully both smiled and blushed a little.

As the priest began the words of the wedding ceremony, Ben watched the faces of his parents closely. They were so happy, all nervousness gone, and they held onto each other's hands tightly. This day had been a long time coming, and he could see—he was sure everyone could see—how relieved his parents were to just be standing here at last. Mulder was teary-eyed, and Scully smiled at him again and again. Mulder's voice broke as he promised to love, honor and cherish her the rest of her days, and Scully's soft voice filled the chapel when she gave her response. They both laughed softly as they exchanged rings, and the chapel filled with cheers as they put their arms around each other and kissed as if it were the first time. Even Lily clapped her hands.

It was not the family he had imagined as a child, but it would do just fine.

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy my fanfic, please consider purchasing my [original fiction](http://jennajones.com).

**Author's Note:**

> Super huge thanks to Kelly who said, "You must write this story," and to Loa for making sure the i's were crossed and the t's were dotted.
> 
> Shooting Star was begun September 1998 and completed April 2000.


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